Summer Nights at Band Camp
by Hgmuffin-stuff
Summary: They were rivals. They were companions. They were everything but in love. One summer night at band camp would change that, though. Or so they hoped.
1. Andantino Scherzando

**Summer Nights at Band Camp**

_by Hg Muffin-Stuff_

Summary: They were rivals. They were companions. They were everything but in love. One summer night at band camp would change that, though. Or so they hoped.

**Chapter One: Andantino Scherzando**

Squidward hadn't expected his first year of high school to exactly be a joy ride after his middle school years. Nor had he expected to be outshined so spectacularly - and so quickly - at his art. No, not outshined. Just - just temporarily challenged, that was all.

Still, there was something about this clarinetist that enthralled him. He had a certain joie de vivre about him, an unrelenting confidence that permitted him to take an exceptional depth of delight in the arts, a world away from the world and yet hiding inside it. Enthralled him and annoyed him. Squilliam could be the biggest jackass he'd ever met.

Squilliam approached Squidward, who sat outside the band class in his usual attire: white T-shirt with a large peace sign, adorned with various pins and buttons representing various causes, including several rainbow flags and marijuana leaves. He had with him a sandwich, brown paper bag, and a magazine held up to his face with the words "Social Issues" printed boldly on the cover. Squilliam scanned the scene, his eyes searching around and behind Squidward's back, causing the seated cephalopod to grow uneasy and scrunch up the magazine, clutch it closely to his chest and eventually scowl and lower it.

"What?"

With a genuine lilt of concern, he said, "Hey Squiddy, where's your Presidential Musical Excellence Medal? Oh, no, did you lose it again?"

Squilliam knew damn well he'd never gotten one. "Uh, that medal is only awarded to people in grades 10 and up."

Then, with a snort of feigned innocent embarrassment: "Oh, I forgot. You're still in ninth grade, aren't you?"

"Yes, Squilliam, I'm fifteen."

Admiring the medal around his neck, twiddling it betwixt his suction cups as it glistened in the sun, he said, "Well, _I'm_ fifteen, and they gave _me_ one. Oh, that's right, they also let me skip a couple grades so I could get out of this hick town sooner before my neurons lose their plasticity and the ocean is forced to bear with an only slightly brilliant Squilliam Fancyson."

"Oh, the tragedy. When are you going to get your head out of your ass and start giving a damn?"

"Just in case it wasn't clear, just because I don't give a damn about you, doesn't mean I don't give a damn about anyone."

"So I'm sure you were just being facetious when you suggested that the way to end poverty and homelessness would be an ad campaign to tell impoverished people to get jobs and hand out soap to them?"

"Well, you could do with a little improvement in the odor department, Squiddy." Squidward opened his mouth agape. "You've got this weird kelp/shrimp thing going on."

Squidward gasped. "How dare you insult my personal hygiene! And I'm not impoverished."

"You sure the hell seem like it to me," he said, feeling the material of Squidward's sleeve. He released the fabric and reached into his jacket to search through a small pocket until he pulled out a rectangular bottle, held it out to Squidward. "If you want to smell fabulous, just squirt a drop of this stuff onto a suction cup and massage it all over your body. You'll taste amazing. I mean, smell amazing."

Squidward read the label, squinting. "Lilac Vanilla, huh?" He gently unscrewed the cap, inhaled. "Oh, Squilliam, this is divine."

"I always use a little before fucking. It drives guys absolutely wild. It's how I seduce my straight boys."

"Come on, Squilliam, nobody's going to go from straight to gay for you just because you put on this...incredibly intoxicating aroma. Those guys must've just been bi."

"Well, I know they must have some inclination, but these guys were just curious. Trust me, I've fucked closeted boys before. They have a way about them."

"There's a pretty big difference between a straight guy who's a little curious and making someone turn gay for you."

"Hey, I'm not the one who said I made them turn gay for me; that was all you."

"So you said it'll make guys go wild?"

"Oh, yes. In fact, sometimes I'll just smell the bottle and give myself a boner."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes."

"Mind if I tried some now?"

"Go right ahead, sweetheart, knock yourself out."

Squidward put an extra drop on, then rubbed himself all around. "How do I look - I mean, smell."

Squilliam draped all of his tentacles around Squidward. "Oh, Squidsy, you're irresistible." Squilliam teased his neck with his teeth, licking at his chest, causing Squidward to shudder and flutter his eyelids. When Squilliam slid away from him, his eyes were still closed in bliss, only opening when Squilliam started cracking up laughing. "I can't believe you fell for that! 'I just smell the bottle and give myself a boner.' Ha, ha! I guess it's clear now who you want to get fucked by."

"Shut up, Fancyboy."

"It is a wonderful lotion, though. You can keep it."

"Thanks. Wait - does this mean you made up the thing about me smelling like kelp and shrimp?"

Squilliam merely gave him a "like hell I'd tell you" smirk and sat down beside him. "So, are you going to give me any of that poor-person slop you call lunch?"

"Again? You know you'll need to deal with those bullies eventually. I can't just keep packing an extra lunch for you every day."

"Aw, why not?" Squilliam smiled slyly. "And don't you think I've already tried to deal with them? It just makes things worse. One sensitive band geek versus five jocks. I completely humiliated myself."

"No, I mean, you could try talking to the counselor or somebody."

"Oh, sure, and have somebody else fight my battles? I may be a faggot but I'm not a pussy."

Squidward handed him a plastic container with a hearty salad inside and a mini-thermos of iced tea.

"And you know they'd tell my parents," he said as Squidward handed him a fork and he took a bite. "My father would absolutely die of embarrassment if he found out I was still getting harassed for my lunch money, especially since I'm losing it. He'd always tell me, 'Fancysons don't get bullied around.'" Squilliam sniffled back a tear as Squidward lightly patted his thighs. "Yeah, dad, just pretend it isn't happening. That makes things a lot better for me. Mmm, this actually isn't half bad. Where'd you get it?"

Squidward withdrew his tentacle. "Oh - I made it. You like it?"

"It's fantastic! I never realized you had such culinary prowess."

"It's just a little something I whipped up for you."

"Don't sell yourself short. You have excellent taste."

Squidward blushed and looked down into his sandwich. "Thanks."

"Ha! Ha! Told you, you wanted me, Squiddy."

"Sh-shut up, Squilliam."

"But you do, don't you?" Squilliam spread out his legs and stroked Squidward's feet with two of his own. "You want me inside you, thrusting against you, just like I want to feel you kicking -"

Squidward shot him an annoyed and frantic glare. "Squilliam!"

"Oh, my, baby, you're tense," he said, massaging Squidward's shoulders. "Let me take care of that."

"No _thank_ you - oh, my word, that is impressive," Squidward said, relaxing into Squilliam's massaging tentacles. Squilliam made everything awkward between them with his suggestions that they sleep together, but his company was too engaging to pass up. Especially when it felt this good. "So, what time are we going to practice our tonguing after school?"

"About six-ish," he said, kneading between Squidward's shoulders with progressively stronger motions.

"Ohh, good. When will we practice our fingering?"

"Oh, I expect we'll be practicing that all night long."

"You're such a slut," Squidward said before arching his shoulders back. "Oh, that's gooood."

"Don't I know it?" Squilliam chuckled. "And of course I'm a slut. I get my choice of lovers. We have as much fun as we can together, then we part before things get too messy. What could be better than that?"

"Wouldn't you like to fall in love someday? Find that special guy who just makes you feel a little better about the world, because he's in it?"

"I've already found him; I see him every time I look in the mirror."

"Okay, but what if you're feeling shitty about yourself?"

No use pretending he was always as cheery and confident as he appeared, after that display about the bullies. "Then I feel shitty and get on with my life. What's your point, Squidward?"

"Wouldn't you like to know that there's someone at your side, someone who wants to make you feel better?"

"Don't be silly; I don't need a lover for that. I have you."

"You think I'll keep stroking your ego and fulfilling your emotional needs just for cheap massages and your fancy scented oils? Keep dreaming! For a rich guy you're not very good at buying my affection."

"How about we take a limousine to the museum? How's that sound to you?"

"Ha! Are you kidding me? Think that's enough to buy me? Travis Sharkey asked me to the homecoming dance, you know."

"T-Travis Sharkey? That oboist -"

"- Who wouldn't let you blow him? Yeah, I know."

"He told _me_ -"

"He's not straight."

His head dipping against Squidward's shoulder, glancing to his right as though on the lookout, he whispered, "Are you sure?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure."

"Damn. Well, what if I took you to every fancy restaurant in town? Would you let me take you for a spin then?"

"No."

"I'll give you a new boat."

"Yawn. No, Squilliam."

"How about we go to that -"

"Forget it. It's not going to happen."

"Why, Squiddy? I know you want me. I'm saying you can have me! Why would you refuse that?"

"Look, Squilliam, I know your type - you just told me your type. You'd fuck me a few times, we'd have fun for awhile, and then you'd drop me like an old newspaper. That's just how you are. But it's not how I am."

"You're right. I'd hate to fuck and run if that would hurt you. Well, have fun with Travis, Squiddy. Be sure to grab hold of your ass on your way to the ground; I'd hate to see it get broken along with your heart."

Squidward lowered his sandwich. "What do you mean by that?"

"What I mean is he doesn't give a damn about romance any more than I do. If you haven't figured that out already, you're more gullible than I thought."

"You didn't even know he was into guys until a minute ago. Why the hell should I trust anything you have to say about him?"

"I just don't want to see you get hurt." He turned away and nibbled at his salad.

"Squilliam? What's this all about?"

"Two years, he was my brother's best friend for two fucking years - I think I should know, and I do. He's all wrong for you, Squiddy. He'd destroy you. It's bad enough that he took your virginity already. Don't go to the dance with him, please. Squiddy dear. Please."

"Your brother? The football star Maximillian Fancyson? Friends with band geek Travis Sharkey?"

"Yes, Squidward, as usual your oddly expositional speech is accurate."

"Oh, wow...I never would've thought he'd talk to guys like us..."

"I do talk to my brother every once in awhile, you know."

"Oh, I know. Just - well, you know what I mean. You're his brother; it's different with you. Oh my gosh, Maxi Fancyson..." Squidward grinned stupidly as his shoulders bobbed up and down with his infatuated giggles.

"Squidward, slurp up that drool and get your tongue back in your mouth. You're acting like an idiot. Oh, please don't tell me you're picturing a threesome with my brother and me, please tell me you aren't."

"...I wasn't until now. Thanks for the idea, though." Yep, he was going to have sweet dreams tonight. "You wouldn't happen to have any pictures of him with you, would you?"

"Not any for you to get your various bodily fluids on. Seriously, could you have any less class?"

"Oh, okay, I understand. But it's not as if I'd have any realistic chance of doing your brother anyway; I mean isn't he off at some snooty boarding school? And he's straight, so it's not like I'd have a chance with him."

"Squiddy dear, sorry to deflate your ego - oh, wait, I'm not - but you wouldn't have a chance with him if he was standing here wearing nothing but a rainbow g-string and doing the can-can."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean he's way out of your league. And really so am I, but hey, I think you're cute. Especially when you blush like that," he added, noting Squidward's reddening cheeks. "You have such a crush on me. It's so obvious! Why else would you blush while I'm insulting you, just because I happen to say you're cute?"

"I - I do not."

"Come off it. All that talk about finding someone you love - you didn't mean some hypothetical person, you really wanted me to say, 'Oh, yes, Squidward, you've made me realize that you, in fact, are my true love and I want to stay with you forever and ever until the end of high school.' Isn't that right, baby cakes? I can tell by the way you're hiding your face from me."

"I never screwed around with Travis."

"Huh?"

"He asked me to, but I said no. You know me. I only do that with people who are really special to me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Like you and your brother."

"Fuck off!"

"Oh, I intend to do just that. I could draw you a comic of it and -"

"Okay, that is going too far, Tentacles!" Then, it was the worst possible time for the band director to open the door to let in their class, who was by now standing in front of them. "Stop talking about me fucking my brother! I'm taking back my fancy oils, and I'm not tonguing with you again tonight, or any other night! And you can forget about us practicing our fingering together!"

Squidward restrained a smirk, but his careful control soon gave way to unbridled guffawing. That is, until he realized just what kind of relationship Squilliam's words implied, and that many of their classmates were taking them quite seriously, giving no more than a blank stare, an averted gaze, as they shuffled into the classroom. Not even so much as an "I'm not even going to ask."

So what the hell did they think was going on between him, Squilliam, and Maxi Fancyson, Squidward had to wonder? Squilliam wondered much the same, neither of them getting another hint about this through the rest of the period apart from the simple remark from the nervous bassoonist that he'd "always wanted to bone your brother too."

Great. Fucking Squilliam and his innuendos. He'd screwed Squidward's one chance of not being a complete loner, fucked it in every orifice and flushed it down the drain. Now he'd be a loner forever, known as that freak who did incestuous threesomes, and it was all the fault of that pompous, horny little bitch Squilliam.

Just great. Squilliam liked being a slut, liked being known as a slut. He did not like being known as that pervert who'd banged his brother and the second clarinetist in some convoluted threesome and/or love triangle. That's just not the kind of guy Squilliam was. And of course it was entirely Squidward's fault.


	2. Accompagnato Con Fuoco

**Summer Nights at Band Camp**

_by Hg Muffin-Stuff_

Summary: They were rivals. They were companions. They were everything but in love. One summer night at band camp would change that, though. Or so they hoped.

**Chapter Two: Accompagnato Con Fuoco**

"Hey Squiddy, you're flat again."

Squidward lifted his left hand from the keys, placing it at his hip, huffing in irritation. "No, Fancyboy, you're just sharp."

"Oh, I beg to differ. Jeffery?" A short fish in a green and white striped shirt perked his head up from his flute. "This sound like an A, concert pitch, to you?" Squilliam played a note on his clarinet.

"Yeah, that's A. Maybe a teensy bit sharp," he said.

"Ha," Squidward smirked.

Frowning, Squilliam said, "Okay, then, let's hear you."

"All right then." Squidward played the note.

Jeffery squinted an eye. "Yep, you're flat."

"Oh, how do you know anyway?" he grumbled, trying the note again, trying to find the right pitch and only getting worse, stopping after he began to squeak.

Jeffery blew his bangs out of his face. "I only have perfect pitch, dumbass."

"Well, how was I supposed to know that? Dumbass."

Squilliam sidled up to Squidward and stroked his arm teasingly with a suction cup. "Don't worry, Squiddy. You'll get good at it eventually."

"Squilliam, I don't need your -"

His voice hushed but not hurried, Squilliam leaned forward, his mouth to Squidward's neck as he said, "Can I talk to you after class?"

"Why? So you can rub it into my face how much better than me you are?" _'Oh, no, Squidward, you didn't just say that out loud, did you?_'

Squilliam's eyes softened in earnest, he took a step back. "It's just been awhile since we've talked. That's all."

As the bell rang and Mr. Shores gave his last minute instructions for practice and study over the loud clanging metal, Squilliam stole Squidward's arm in his suction cupped hand and led him down the hall past the rows of lockers, past the classrooms and the stairs and the water fountain, past the gym and finally leading the two of them outside into a cement cage between the field and the parking lot and closing the door behind them.

"I don't think we're supposed to be here," Squidward said.

"I don't care. I need a moment." Squilliam put a tentacle to forehead.

"So, um...did your brother's visit go well?"

After shooting Squidward a calculated glare, his face fell and he whispered, "It's all my fault."

"What are you talking about, Squilliam? What happened?"

"You know, this is one of my favorite spots to take my fuckbuddies to make out?"

"Ohh...that's, nice," Squidward said, his voice a mixture between awkward and eager, somewhat hoping that his intention had been to make out with him, but rather confused, as Squilliam himself didn't seem to know what the fuck he was talking about.

"Then I found out last week it's Maxi's favorite spot too."

"Are you pissed that he stole your romantic hideaway behind school maintenance? Come on, he's just here for what, a week? Two weeks? Then he'll be kissing those girls goodbye, and you can get back to sucking cock in this cement cubbyhole your fucktoys know as Chez Squilliam," he said, inflecting the last syllable of the name upward in a French accent.

"He won't be kissing any girls goodbye."

"What?"

"Promise you won't tell anyone, and I mean anybody. Not your mom, dad, or therapist. Yes, we know why you get called out of math every other Thursday."

"Okay, okay, I promise. What is it?"

Squilliam lowered his head and stared into Squidward's elbow. "He was...kissing Travis."

"Oh. Why would I tell anyone that? I know how people can be."

"Thank you, Squiddy, thank you." Squilliam winced and turned away. "This is all because of me, you know." Squidward rubbed Squilliam's arm as he continued. "He always envied my freedom to just express myself, that I would dare to wear high heels or talk about guys I'm interested in, just like I'd always envied the way my parents actually respect him. He's the only real Fancyson boy, you know. I'm just the poorly done clone."

As the tears began to fall from Squilliam's eyes, Squidward dug through his backpack, pulling out a handkerchief and extending it to him. "Here," he said, handing it over.

"I should've told him not to envy me," Squilliam said into Squidward's handkerchief. "Oh, thank you, darling. There's nothing to envy about my life. Getting beat up every day just because you're horny like everybody else, having fabulous wealth that you can't do anything useful with, parents who hate you or ignore you and mostly just wish you'd go away or become somebody else...I'd lose my mind if I couldn't have you with me, Squiddy."

"Come on...there's plenty to envy about you, Squilliam. What about your fantastic clarinet skills?" Squidward wanted to kill himself for saying that. Still, he hadn't technically admitted that Squilliam was any better than he was.

"I do have that."

"And what about all that action you're always getting?"

"Eugh. Don't remind me. Don't get me wrong, there's plenty of guys who are good, but mostly I end up screwing horny virgins who don't know what they're doing and selfish twits who are only in it for themselves. I'm lucky to get a good lay in maybe once a month, tops."

"Oh. That would be frustrating." Squidward began to stroke Squilliam's wrist. "Squilliam, I may be a horny virgin, and I may be a bit selfish, but I really do like you, and I think that we can have something really special together."

"Special?" Squilliam asked, gripping Squidward's hand in his, stalling his strokes. "I can make you feel more passionately than you ever have." Slowly, he drifted his hips forward toward Squidward's, then, just as they touched, thrust his whole body forward to firmly embrace him as he caressed Squidward's cheek and rapidly tongued with him.

The suddenness shook Squidward nearly to the ground in a faint, but the mellow passion of the kisses soothed him and kept him upright - somewhat, anyway, as Squilliam now held him up against his chest at a thirty-degree angle, his free tentacles feeling Squidward up. Five months of growing attraction and desire had finally yielded something worthwhile, like strands of kelp developing and becoming entangled, just to be ripped from the ground, separated, and consumed. Except you couldn't eat a high school sweetheart. Or could you?

_'It's now or never, Squidward.'_ With a single motion, Squidward moved his arms from Squilliam's waist and back to his shoulders, gripped them tightly, and kissed him long and slow, savoring the moment and humming a random sweet tune. He tilted Squilliam backward, massaging his back with two of his lower tentacles, still not breaking their kiss.

Squidward took his lips away and leaned in toward his neck to kiss him wetly. "My, my, Squiddy," Squilliam said with a bashful batting of the eyelids. "Kiss me again, Sizzle-Lips." These kisses did indeed sizzle, sizzled and lingered on his lips. They kissed again, and when Squidward paused to take a breath, Squilliam said, "Oh, baby, you're simply ravishing. But let's wait until we get to my place. I have some," he kissed Squidward's shoulder, "scented candles, and I can draw us a bubble bath, and your first time can be really special."

"What do you care about making it special? You're not a sensitive lover. I'm in band, you know."

"Some cum-stained maintenance shed in the back of a high school is no place for you to lose your virginity, Squiddy."

"Why not? I mean, most people seem to lose it in the back of a van."

"You deserve better than the back of a van for your first time. Trust me, I know."

"That's very - sweet of you, Squillie."

"What's that?"

"Oh - nothing, just that I hear 'Squillie' in my head when I think about you. You don't mind, do you? If I call you Squillie?" Squidward's confidence melted away as he spoke each word, his voice trembling as he expected Squilliam to swiftly rebuke him for his use of the affectionate moniker.

"Oh. No, I don't mind." Squilliam's blasé attitude at first cheered Squidward, until he worried at Squilliam's admonition that it would only be: "On one condition -" with a sly smile as he leaned in to kiss Squidward. "We get to do that. As often as possible."

Squidward hugged him, not in the romantic, don't-you-want-me kind of way that he had been aiming for, but in the eager, excited-just-to-be-near-you-unbridled-exuberance kind of way. "Tonguing is my specialty," he said, trying to save it with a breathy tone and double entendre, but Squilliam simply smiled, ran his arms slowly up through Squidward's hair, and glided his tongue into his mouth.

When the kiss had ended, Squidward gasped in a panic. "Oh, no! Do you realize how late we are for history?"

"No. And I don't care."

"Well, I do. Come on, we can kiss more later tonight when we have sex. Right now I'm just worried about not getting expelled."

"Oh, Squiddy, you won't get expelled for missing one class."

"Yeah, but missing class after they caught me smoking weed last week?"

"Oh, yeah. But I doubt they'd expel you for that. Just look at how many times they've caught me -"

"I'm not a Fancyson."

"Right. That's - you're right. We should go." Squilliam stood, dusted himself off and unruffled the hems of Squidward's t-shirt, while Squidward did likewise and straightened Squilliam's tie, smoothed his jacket. Holding the door open for Squidward, Squilliam whispered, "You look absolutely adorable, Squiddy," as Squidward grabbed his backpack and clarinet case and dashed through the door. Squilliam coolly grabbed the back of his shirt, stopping him from running any further. "Don't run, dear. You'll get sweaty."

"I don't care if they think we fucked. Half the band already thinks we did anyway."

Squilliam chuckled. "Oh, honey, I wouldn't care if they watched us fuck in seven positions. I just mean I don't want you to get sweaty until after we've gotten going tonight."

"Oh, I see." Squidward smiled as they walked side by side, relished his fantasy of them as a couple. "So how was your first time?"

"You think that's appropriate hallway conversation? You're so crass."

"Hey, you're the one who brought up doing it in seven positions." And not even a trombonist. Impressive. "But since when are you sensitive about your sex life? Nobody ever has sex with you expecting you to keep quiet about it."

"Let's just say, this person expected me not to brag about it to my friends. And it was my first time. I wasn't known as a slut yet, dumbass."

"Okay. I won't pry."

As they approached their classroom, Squilliam said, "We should go in one at a time. Our peers will all know instantly what we were up to, but maybe the teacher will be fooled. He's rather dull, isn't he?"

Squidward snickered. "As dull as a 20-watt bulb." He clutched at Squilliam's hands and leaned forward to kiss him, lifting two of his legs back at the same time.

Squilliam smiled as their lips parted, said, "Can't wait to see you tonight, Squiddy." Slowly curling his hands out of Squidward's grip and folding them around Squidward's arms, sliding down again, he locked lips, the two kissing hard, Squidward dipping Squilliam slightly, turning him a bit as he held him close. "See you there soon, honey," Squilliam said as he strode confidently into the classroom, acted as though nothing were abnormal about arriving twenty minutes late, and closed the door behind him.

Sighing in high pitch and with a great degree of tremolo and vibrato, Squidward blushed and looked downward, embarrassed at his shameless display of infatuation, despite there being no one to witness it.

Or so he had thought. And hoped.

"Well, if it isn't that band faggot Squidward Testicles. Still having threesomes with richie and his brother?" Oh, great. Eric.

Squidward gulped. He'd acted in this play before, and this was his cue to exit stage left. Wordlessly, he jumped for the door, only to fall flat on his back, a muscular shark standing in front of him, blocking the door. In fact, not just standing in front of him, but also standing on top of him, two other guys at the side pulling at his tentacles, keeping him from struggling.

"Let me -"

Eric punched him in the jaw. "What's in the case? Your dildo?"

"That's my clarinet, you ninny. Now unhand me!" Eric simply gagged his mouth, and they dragged him down the hall, passing the stairs and the water fountain, past the gym and into the empty locker rooms. Eric shoved him onto a bench as the others helped restrain him. Squidward shot his head back to see what was going on, glimpsed two of the fish holding his clarinet, the sensation of fins grasping his thighs, pulling his body upward, his knees hitching up toward his chest, the insults intended to further his humiliation that he would never register.

He released an ink cloud, but the cold plastic of the mouthpiece had already begun ravaging him, and going quickly deeper. All that had changed was that it became that much more confusing and terrifying, but at least he could imagine himself somewhere faraway. Yeah, right! He was in agony. As if he could simply close his eyes and dream it all away.

The agony struck him deeper than any tears could wash into, and apart from the few that shot away from his eyes in sheer reflex to pain, he didn't cry, but sputtered in skittering breaths. He tried not to think about how far it was going into him, or about how those beautiful keys were being desecrated within him after all that attention he'd painstakingly applied over the years to preserve its beauty immaculately, even while his less dedicated peers had been so careless in the care and keeping of their instruments. His one childhood friend, now skewering him and taking his hopes and dreams prisoner.

As suddenly as it had begun, it was over, and he was left alone with a mess of blood and his damaged instrument to cradle in his arms. The one good thing about school, they had managed to destroy, and to them it was nothing more than a game.

He stared at the mangled and bloodied keys, keys he'd just finessed that morning to play a bright tune that would take him away from the hell of living without the risk or emotional dive of attempting suicide. Drawing the bell close to his face, he kissed the rim of it, his tear falling into the bore. There was no chance that he would allow some lowlife to rip away the only things he held dear to him.

With a trembling hand and a stagger in his step, he crawled to his knees, suction cups clinging to the rows of lockers, as he stood feebly and searched for his own, his clarinet still loosely gripped in his right hand. As he found his own locker, he methodically turned the dial of his lock, clockwise, pause, sigh, counter-clockwise, head pressed against metal, pause click, clockwise, eyes closed - shit. He'd circled three times too many. Once again he proceeded, his motions even more deliberate, and the lock unceremoniously clicked and disengaged.

A chill washed over his body as he ran his hand along the walls, searching for an empty locker to stow it in. He could bury Clara later that afternoon, but for the moment he couldn't let anyone find out what had happened to him. Especially Squilliam.

He grasped the handle of the locker, squeezed it, opened the door, shoved his clarinet inside and closed the door, grasped the lock...slipping. He was vaguely aware of his arm sliding down the lockers, still not sure whether he'd clasped it shut, the combination lock fading out of view.

Squilliam. Oh, shit, they had an evening planned together! He was under no illusion about Squilliam's intentions; either he'd find out about his ordeal when they fucked or Squidward would hem and haw and Squilliam would boot him from his house, just another conquest that didn't work out. One of those unreliable virgins. He couldn't take that kind of heartbreak, even from somebody he never expected to return his affection.

The lock dangled, each part separated, and Squidward drew in a labored breath and clenched it in his hand, forcing the rod to close, his arm drifting away, the side of his tentacle grazing the notched edges of the dial as he collapsed to the ground, the room fading to grainy sepia and bursts of sodium-vapor yellows. The sensation of blood trailing his thigh, sluicing down between his legs, cradled his mind, rocked him in a calm unease that he was alive.

Perhaps most inexplicable of the day's events, though, was the realization of the loneliness that swelled inside him, that he hoped to have Squilliam by his side as he lost consciousness, his regard for his dignity flying past the ceiling with his last remaining sensation.

***

Twenty minutes of boring lecture was quite enough for Squilliam. Squidward had ditched him on purpose, he was sure of it. Or something terrible had happened to him. But Squidward had had a rough enough week already, and he didn't want to assume the worst.

"Mr. Finley, excuse me, but I need to use the restroom," he said, standing and flicking his wrist, an air of self-importance circling his words.

"Sit down, Fancyson, there's only ten more minutes left to class. Now, when the President..."

"Excuse me, but I don't think I've made myself clear. My need is - ahem. Dire," he said, flashing a fifty from his breast pocket and twiddling it while wiggling his eyebrow.

"Bribery isn't going to work, mister. If you want to go fuck your latest beau in the bathroom, you're going to have to wait ten minutes like the rest of us."

Squilliam smiled slyly. "How about a hundred?"

"Fine, just go."

Smiling brightly, he dropped two fifties, let them float onto the desk as he walked into the hallway. Doorway closed, he asked timidly, "Squiddy? Squiddy, are you here, baby?"

_'Great. This was probably all a set-up. He probably wanted to get me all along, to reject me for the sake of rejecting me, just so he could laugh at me and everyone would see that I wasn't good enough for the loner Squidward Tentacles.'_

He took a brisk pace through the hallway, combed the bathrooms with a rapidly discerning eye, and then headed for the fountain to get a drink. "It's almost five minutes until the bell; where in the sea can he be?" As he bent over to get a drink, though, he saw in the reflection of the metal receptacle a door slightly ajar, a flash of blue and gold. "Squiddy?" Squilliam turned around, made rushed and faltering steps to the inside of the locker room, where he saw the brilliant blonde hair streaming from Squidward's paled aqua face, the bruises and splashes and puddles of blood dotting his tentacles and face, cushioning his body. He felt almost guilty for finding his mutilated body attractive, attractive in the way one could see a precious beauty unfolding from a dying flower.

Squilliam fell to his knees, lips trembling as he fumbled through his pocket to get his shell phone, dial 9-1-1. "My Squiddy...he's unconscious. Blood - lots of blood. He was beaten pretty badly. Please, help him. He needs help, now. Help him! I don't know, maybe ten or twenty minutes just get here! Oh, Squiddy, you'll be fine, just wake up, please." He pressed his cheek against Squidward's forehead. "You have to be okay." He parted some hair out of the way and kissed Squidward's nose. "You're my best friend, Squiddy dear. My only friend, and I love you. Oh, Squidward, you have to be okay. I know you'll be. You'll make it through, honey, I promise."


	3. Poco a Poco Calando

**Summer Nights at Band Camp**

_by Hg Muffin-Stuff_

Summary: They were rivals. They were companions. They were everything but in love. One summer night at band camp would change that, though. Or so they hoped.

**Chapter Three: Poco a Poco Calando**

"So, you want me to blow you after class today? I can do it in seven positions, after all." Harry Halibut nudged Squilliam with his "tromboner".

"That's the third time this week you've used that pick-up line, Harry. And for the third time, no."

"Why the hell not?"

_'Yes, Squilliam, why the hell not? He's actually good at it, unlike half the gay boys in this school. He's not clingy, he's great for one-offs, adventurous... Why the hell not?'_

"Well, Squilliam? Why won't you let me blow you? And ever since last month, all you've been blowing is your clarinet. What's the matter, tired of being a slut?"

"No, I love dick too much for that..."

"Then how come ever since you ran off to fuck that Squidward kid you've been celibate? Are you afraid that if he finds out you screwed around while he's in the hospital he'd cut you off?"

"Squiddy is not a kid! We're the same age; if anything it's you who's a pervert for wanting to fuck me, Mister I'm-Turning-Eighteen-Next-Week. And he knows not to expect any long-term romance from me."

"So what are you waiting for?"

"I promised him I'd make our time together special," he chose his words carefully, not knowing whether Squidward's virginity was common knowledge, not knowing why he gave a damn if his classmates found out about his fucktoy's virginity. "We didn't get a chance to fuck yet. I'm still waiting to take him."

"You know, you can just do me now, and then when he's out of the hospital do him all you want."

"Fuck you, Harry. Just, fuck off."

"What? What did I say?"

"He's in the fucking hospital. He could've died. And you're talking about me fucking you behind his back, after I said all those sweet things to him. If you think I could do that to him, you don't know me, at all."

"Are you in love with Squidward?"

Squilliam stared at him coldly. "No," he said, his voice gritty. "I don't love anyone." _'I would make an exception for Maxi,'_ he thought, _'but I don't want to open _that _issue up for discussion again.'_ And he did love Squidward, if not in that gushy, romantic sort of way. But as a friend. Someone to count on, for something - friendly or not-so-friendly banter, a meal to share, a quiet moment of shared understanding. That was what he really needed in that moment, more than a good fucking.

"Oh. You do try to humiliate him a lot in class."

Squilliam tried to shake off the dismay he felt at that response. _Oh?!_ What kind of person was he, that people would treat his announcement that he didn't love anyone with such nonchalant understanding? "Shut up. He deserves that humiliation by being such an arrogant ass."

"Oh, and you're the master of humility."

"I'm talented; I earned the right to be arrogant." Oh. Maybe that was why. "Look, Harry, I just don't want to hurt him while he's down."

"You already said he knew you're not in it long-term. He knows the kind of guy you are; he's always asking me for details, about how you like it, and who your other partners have been, what cologne turns you on the most, etcetera."

Well, if he hadn't been convinced before, he was now. Squidward didn't just want Squilliam's body, he wanted his heart and mind, too.

"Anyway, Squilliam, it's not like you'd be cheating; you're not in a committed relationship. You're not in love, so I don't understand why you're saying no."

"Because I want Squiddy." He tried to conceal his sniffles. He succeeded. He wasn't nearly so successful at concealing his bawling. "I want him! I want him, I want him, I want – I want to cuddle up with him by a warm fire, make him feel better than anyone's ever made him feel, kiss him until we pass out in each other's arms, to touch that soft, beautiful skin, see him light up in radiant pulsing rainbows and know he's ready to be mine."

"I thought you said you didn't love anyone."

"Especially not Squidward."

"Right. But you must really...really like him. A lot."

"Well, yeah, I like his mouth. He's got an amazing tongue for kissing. And I can't wait to find out what else that tongue is good for."

"Uh, okay. So you're not going to blow me today?"

"Fuck off, Harry."

***

Squilliam sat beside Squidward outside the band class, no lunch in hand. "I tried to visit you in the hospital, honey; they asked me my name and told me you weren't letting visitors in to see you." Squilliam glanced down at Squidward's chest. "What happened to your rainbow pins, sweetie?"

"I threw them out."

"Why, Squiddy?"

"Because you're right. There's nothing to envy about your life."

Squilliam glanced nervously down at his empty hands. "Well, don't you worry; I don't expect you to have packed me a lunch on your first day back from the hospital." He tried to roll a chuckle off his shoulder, but his voice softened immediately. "I heard you had a medical condition. Epilepsy or something, was it, Squiddy? That's funny, you never told me about that before. Are you really feeling okay?"

Squidward grumbled, "Just fine, thank you. Now leave me alone."

"I just wanted to know that you're doing better. Ass."

"I'm not in the mood."

"Tell me when you're ready to tell me, all right, Squiddy?"

Something told him that Squilliam hadn't quite bought his story about why he'd been taken to the hospital. "Don't talk to me."

"Okay, just let me know when -"

"I said, 'Don't talk to me.' I can't be seen talking to a prissy little faggot like you."

Squilliam sniffed up a tear. "All right then. If that's how you want it."

Squidward put his hands on his hip. "That's how it's going to be."

Squilliam did likewise. "Well that's how I want it."

"Good, then."

"Fabulous." Squilliam crossed his arms, turned away.

Squidward ate his lunch while Squilliam sat next to him, watching him. Leering over him.

Squidward cleared his throat. "Do you mind?"

"Mind what?"

"Mind your drool! It's getting on my shoulder."

Squilliam took out a handkerchief and began wiping Squidward's shoulder to sop up his saliva. "But Squiddy, you certainly didn't seem to mind my saliva getting on your shoulder when I nibbled your tender flesh last month."

"You're a freak, Squilliam. Please, just leave me alone."

"Aww...whatever happened to 'Squillie'?"

"Don't push your luck."

"Please, Squiddy. I just want you back. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?"

"Squillie, you can't blame a guy for actually listening and taking your advice to heart. I've got a date this Friday night, and I'm sorry, but it's not with you."

"It's that tramp Travis, isn't it? Damn it, I told you not to get involved with him!"

"No, it's not with Travis. Rachel Cuttles asked me out three months ago, and I finally said yes."

"Squidward, why the fuck are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Oh, cut the crap, I know you're not bi. I was there when the guys discovered that hole exposing the girls' locker room; you didn't move a muscle. You just sat reading some dance magazine."

"I just...respected their privacy, that's all."

"Oh? Then how come I never see you respecting my privacy when we change for band? Ah ha, ha."

"I'm done messing around, Squillie. I've had my fun, but that life isn't for me."

"Oh, really?" Squilliam raised his unibrow skeptically.

"Yes, _really_."

"What a shame that those sweet kisses will be wasted on someone who won't even appreciate the subtleties of your technique."

"Stop kidding around; you know I'm amazing with my tongue."

"Oh. I know. And I'm not kidding, I just mean that it takes a musician to fully appreciate the finer accents you use with those sizzling lips of yours."

"Ooh...you really mean that?"

"I adore kissing you. I could give up sex just to kiss you. Well - almost."

"Oh, Squillie...you don't have to flatter me. You know, I've been thinking the last few weeks, and..."

"Will you just shut up and kiss me already? I'm sorry, go on."

"No, I - mmph." Squidward grabbed Squilliam's shoulders and stroked his chest and back, pulled at his tie with his free tentacles while they kissed. It lasted only a second, and then Squidward exchanged Squilliam's lips for his shoulder, crying into him. "You feel so good."

Squilliam patted his back. "You do, too, Squidward. You feel so good to me." He gave a gentle squeeze to his waist, pulling them closer together.

Squidward uncurled his tentacles from around Squilliam, gently pushed him back. "I - I can't do this."

"Squiddy, don't be an ass. Your parents are wonderful, loving, accepting people, and here you're putting on a melodrama about how you just can't afford to be gay. Well, guess what, honey, I've got problems too, and no, they don't just magically disappear because I'm wealthy. I can't buy my parents' love, I can only buy a superficial veneer of popularity that doesn't protect me from the serious bullies anyway, and I can't buy you -"

He'd wanted to make some comment about how his problems shouldn't be dismissed without being lived, but that last sentence stopped his hearts and lungs, for a moment reversed the motion. "You want to buy me?" Squidward asked with a timid blush.

"Er - uh, well..." Squilliam bit his lower lip, the sweat gushing down his face. "Yeah I want you. If I have to buy you, then so be it."

Squidward slowly grasped one of Squilliam's tentacles in his. "Just promise you'll stay close to me? You won't leave me alone. Please."

"O-okay, Squiddy. Sure."

"Squillie?"

"Yes?"

Squidward looked into his eyes, said in a crumbling whisper, "Thanks."

A smile crept up on Squilliam's face. "No trouble, dear." He kissed Squidward's cheek, clasped his other hand over Squidward's, and they waltzed into the band class together.

Apart from some whispers about how the first and second clarinets were really doing each other, that Squidward was really back, that he'd been found unconscious in the locker room, that they'd heard he'd been doing heavy drugs or had a life-threatening illness, the return to band class was beginning to look rather much like the usual - a welcome relief for Squidward, who'd not been fond of the dreary hospital halls.

Mr. Shores approached Squidward, put a fin on shoulder and guided him to the side of the room. "Mr. Tentacles, in the month you've been gone, you've fallen pretty far behind. Are you sure you'd rather not drop this class for the rest of the year, and start again next year to catch up?"

Squidward gulped, his lip trembling as he tried to suppress the tears. Unsuccessfully - of course. "But M-Mister Shores, band is t-the one thing that makes my l-life worth living!"

"You know, nothing is stopping you from playing your clarinet. You don't need to be in the band to do that."

"But this class really means the world to me. I don't know what I'd do without band. Honestly, I'm not just shamelessly kissing your ass; band is all I've got to look forward to!"

"I see. Do you know yet if you will be resuming your sessions with Dr. Hudson?"

"Yeah, yeah, this Thursday."

"I just don't see - we've gone through a lot of difficult repertoire, and you were struggling as it was."

"Oh, please, Mr. Shores, I don't care about any of my other classes. I'll play my clarinet all day and night, and I know I can keep up. Just give me a chance, I know I can do it."

"Mr. Tentacles, I know you're a dedicated musician already. And I really appreciate that, and if you keep that up, you can make great progress. You're still young. And if you enroll again next year, I'm sure you'll make huge strides -"

"Still young? I'm fifteen! In a few years I'll be applying to college. I can't get held back now!"

"Don't rush yourself. Everyone has a different pace they learn at. If you rush yourself, you'll just end up with mediocre skills at best."

"Ahem," Squilliam cleared his throat, "Mr. Shores, I'll gladly help Squiddy work on his technique and practicing our repertoire." He enunciated loudly to the class, "In fact, we plan to practice tonguing and fingering with each other every night."

"Okay, Mr. Fancyson. You do realize what kind of time commitment you're agreeing to, though?"

"Oh, yeah, I've tutored him before. He'll be back up to speed in no time."

"I trust that you'll do a great job helping him fit right back in again."

"I won't let you down, Mr. Shores," Squidward said, shaking Mr. Shores's fins.

As Squilliam walked with Squidward back to their seats, Mr. Shores announced to the class that they would be practicing a lot of exercises and going over some theory they'd already covered in the last month, so that Squidward could participate on his first day back.

Squidward sat his clarinet case on his lap, stroked the top surface with a quiver before undoing the latches and opening it on its hinge, gazing at his new clarinet. He had wanted to play it as soon as his parents had shown him his brand new instrument, but he'd been so depressed that the most he'd gotten himself to do was to hold it in his arms, whispering his desire to play her as he fell asleep, still embracing his Clari.

Squidward yawned, opened his eyes to see his nose pressing against the bell of his clarinet, which still sat in its case. Unfortunate side effect of the medications the doctors gave him; he was not accustomed to falling asleep throughout the day.

"Are you ready to join us yet, Mr. Tentacles?" Mr. Shores said, asking sincerely rather than chiding as he normally would if a student had fallen asleep over their instrument when they were supposed to already be ready.

"Huh? Oh, uh, right." Pressing a suction cup against one of the tone holes, he sighed in despair, tears welling in his eyes. _'Don't do this, Squiddy; everything will be okay. Just pick Clari up and put her reed in your mouth...it's simple. Don't pressure yourself to play great, just play a tune. A scale. A note, any note. Just put her in your mouth.'_ He bit his lower lip, took out a reed, and opened his mouth to take it inside and wet it. With a shaky tentacle, he grasped the reed from his mouth and placed it against the mouthpiece, gently yet swiftly fastening it with the ligature. Clamping his lips shut over his shuddering whimpers, he raised his clarinet to his mouth, prepared to sound the first note, when a clank resounded throughout the room.

Or at least, that's the sound they would've heard, had Squilliam not caught his clarinet just before it would've hit the ground. Still holding his own instrument in his left hand, he set Squidward's clarinet down on its bell, said, "What's wrong, Squiddy dear?"

Flicking away the tears in his eyes, and noting the crowd - students and the band director - that had taken notice of his episode, he forced a smile and said, "Nothing. Just - a little dizzy, that's all. It's...a side effect of one of the medications they gave me at the hospital."

Mr. Shores shook his head. "Well, we can't have you passing out on us, now can we? Just sit and listen until you're ready to join us. If you feel like you need to go to the nurse's office, just let me know, and Mr. Fancyson can escort you there. All right? Okay, everybody..."

The band director's voice faded out of Squidward's mind as he watched Squilliam bring his clarinet to his mouth and begin to play. Such beauty...how could he ever fear that? As he watched him, without thinking his gaze descended to Squilliam's crotch, where it rested for the remainder of the practice piece.

He didn't realize where he was again until he heard Squilliam say, "Get a good look, Squiddy?"

The others in the band snickered, and he realized he was sweating and turning red. "Oh...um, yeah. As if I'd want to look at you."

"Looks like you do want to look at me. A lot." Squilliam stroked Squidward's thighs in a movement that was halfway between stroking and masturbation.

"Squilliam!" was all Squidward could manage in a panicked whisper, but he was not deterred and grew more audacious in his play.

"Oh, shut up, you like it and you know it."

Squidward was petrified that he'd make an embarrassing sound, so he bit his lower lip, but still his cheeks flushed a brilliant red, and he breathed rapidly. Squidward squeaked loudly, "Squilliam!" as he came, then slumped back in his chair, panting, to see the dark-haired cephalopod licking the suction cups of his hand. Why would he... "Ew! You're eating my...ew!"

"Aww...virgins are cute." He couldn't think about that anymore, though, because by this point the rest of the class had noticed the goings-on, that Squilliam had made Squidward shout for him.

"Squidward so has the hots for Squilliam!"

"They're going to get it on!"

"No, we're not 'getting it on!'" said Squidward. "Squilliam, I'll kill you for this!" He tackled Squilliam, who seemed to get an unhealthy amount of pleasure from the experience. He couldn't bring himself to hurt him, though. He'd just made things bearable for him again. And he was so beautiful.

Squilliam grinned, arched his back to drag his chest against Squidward's abdomen, and said, "Make me hurt, Squiddy boy, make me hurt _good_."

Grabbing his collar as if about to strangle him, Squidward drew close to his mouth and whispered, "Let's do this again...tonight at eight. My place." Lifting his head away, he said in a louder, crisp voice, "Got that?"

"Oh, yes, Squiddy, I got it all right." They started to get up to resume class, but found that Mr. Shores was standing right at their feet, with two pink slips for indecent conduct during class time.

***

"I still don't know why they gave me one. I wasn't the one disrupting class with an orgasm," said Squilliam, crossing his legs.

"You are unbelievable. You're the whole reason we're in this mess!"

"No, I believe your hard-on is the reason we're in this mess."

"Did I say, 'Please, Squilliam, jack me off'? Because I sure as hell didn't hear myself say it."

"Your eyes told me you needed it. And hey, I wanted to do it."

"I don't need anything from you, Fancyboy."

Squilliam gave a shrug of nonchalance. "Is that so."

"Yes."

"So we're not on for tonight then?"

"Of course not! I never want to see you again!"

"Really? Because, you know Squiddy, I'd really like to go all the way for you. If you just tell me you change your mind, I'll gladly fuck you, anytime, anywhere. But if you don't want to see me..."

"Huh? Don't be ridiculous. Eight o'clock, sharp."

"Oh, no, Squiddy, no need to mend my broken heart. You already said you didn't want to see me. What was I thinking? What would such an amazing clarinetist as you want to do with a prissy little faggot like me, anyway?"

"Cut the sarcasm. You know you want to fuck me. And I'm sorry I called you that, if it makes you feel any better."

"Well, look who's suddenly apologizing, now that you think it'll get you some action."

"Squilliam, I really am sorry. I just - things are complicated."

"You mean you were being a little closeted homophobic ass."

"Not exactly closeted."

"Then why did you throw your rainbows away, Squiddy? You looked so pretty in them." It was true, too. Squidward was the sort of guy who could pull off pretty while still retaining his sleek masculinity.

"I told you I don't want to fucking talk about it! Now, leave me alone."

"...But you still want me to fuck you tonight."

"That's right."

"And you want me to leave you alone."

"You got it, toots."

"Well, sorry, _toots_, but you can't have me that way. I may be a slut, but I need a little pillow talk now and then. I'm not sleeping with someone who's going to just give me the cold shoulder and leave the sheets cold. I actually liked you. I thought you liked me a little, too."

"Maybe I do, but since when do you need a guy to like you?"

"I just need a little companionship. Someone I can talk to, have a good time with. Is that really so much to ask?" He hung his head low to his knees as he obscured a short burst of tears.

Squidward touched his shoulder. "We're talking."

"What?" he asked, looking up and into Squidward's eyes.

"We're talking...right now."

Squilliam nodded, sniffing his last tears away as he tenderly held the hand Squidward had firmly placed upon his shoulder and leaned against his chest. Squidward kissed his head, inched his feet towards Squilliam's and entwined their tentacles together, locked suction cups with him.

Squilliam tilted his head up, touched his nose to Squidward's. "Talk to me, Squiddy."


	4. Tempo di Marcia

**Summer Nights at Band Camp**

_Hg Muffin-Stuff_

Summary: They were rivals. They were companions. They were everything but in love. One summer night at band camp would change that, though. Or so they hoped.

**Chapter Four: Tempo di Marcia**

The whir of wheels rolling against road lulled Squidward into a half-waking doze with the dull monotony of the mechanical, rocky terrain-carved rhythm. Why they couldn't have held band camp a little closer to town, he didn't know, but it probably had something to do with what Mr. Shores had said about the tranquility of the great outdoors. Whatever he'd said, it faded to the back of Squidward's mind as he rested his head against the glass, noting as his breath arrested that the bus tread frighteningly close to the jagged edge of the road.

Robbi Taylor, a tall silverside girl who was sitting next to him, leaned forward, the seat ahead supporting her by the underarms and shoulders as she chatted with a couple of her flautist buddies. As she bent her torso, her white shirt increasingly smoothed over her back, revealing an image of two clarinets, one askew and disassembled with smears of cork grease on the corks, the other assembled with the clarinet section members' names written on it, and musical notes spilling out the bell and tone holes, words reading: "Clarinets: Greased up and in the hole, we have fantastic rhythm." Eh. It wasn't so clever.

Not that that had stopped Squilliam from gloating about it, how his design had been chosen over all of two other submissions. Squidward was particularly fond of his own submission: an anthropomorphized clarinet playing itself, the words coming out of the bell reading: "We don't suck - we blow." Squilliam had ripped his design into shreds, of course (figuratively, as well as literally): the words weren't placed prominently enough; the phrase was completely done to death on the chests and backs of band geeks across the sea; the image wasn't a clear enough illustration of the concept; etcetera ad nauseam infinitum.

Squidward looked across the aisle, beyond Harry to the window on the opposite end of his row where Squilliam sat straight up beside, clarinet case and smooth tentacled hands in lap. He stared past Harry to admire Squilliam's polished appearance: his slender yet muscular legs, slicked black hair, his utterly beguiling unibrow, the gentle curve of his cheek, the powdery yellow and velvety maroon of his eyes. He could drown in those eyes.

***

"I brought you a present. It's for your birthday." Squidward handed him the delicately wrapped box, coral blue paper tied with fiery red ribbon, the box itself stuffed with confetti and baby blue tissue paper, gently cradling the treasure inside as Squilliam unraveled it and grasped it in his hands.

"Oh, my, Squiddy. It's simply wonderful."

"Press the button. It plays our favorite clarinet concerto."

Squilliam traced a suction cup over the miniature ceramic renderings of themselves from foreheads to noses to clarinets to legs, each touching, merging, until he finally located the button and depressed it, igniting the music to spark alive, a sweet, romantic tune. Carefully setting it on his bureau, he turned his wrist around and with the back of his hand caressed Squidward from his forehead to cheek to nose to chest, then gripped his shirt and kissed him hard.

"I made it just for you, Squillie. Sorry I couldn't get it to you on your birthday. I was a little busy recovering in the hospital." A sarcastic sentiment expressed with sweetness.

"Don't worry about that; this is lovely. I - adore it. I really do. I really do." The hand that had gripped his shirt gradually unclenched and slid down the cheap fabric, met Squidward's hand with a subtle thud and curled around it as he gazed at his new music box. "You want to take a bubble bath, Squiddy?"

***

"You want a handjob?" Harry licked his lower lip teasingly, stroked his fin between two of Squilliam's thighs.

He couldn't let go of the sounds his Squiddy had made when he'd first made him orgasm in band class - quiet, muffled, then a passionate squeal. Couldn't let go of the frantic blush that had rippled across his cheeks. Couldn't let go of how cute he'd looked in nothing but bathwater and rose petals.

"So? Do you want it or not?" Harry said with a nudge of the elbow.

"Oh, yeah. Just give me a minute to get ready." He leaned back, his eyes closed, as he pictured Squidward on his bed that one evening.

***

Squidward stood from the corner of the bed, positioned himself behind Squilliam, and tugged at his tie, loosening it from his neck and pulling it off, letting it drop to the ground as he methodically separated buttons from holes to the beat of the concerto playing from the music box. The sculptures themselves were mediocre, and he already had at least two of that exact music box in his drawers, but Squilliam didn't have to tell him any of that, instead humming along with the music as his shirt coiled to the ground on top of his tie.

Squidward nibbled along his neck and down his right shoulder. "Sounds fabulous, Squillie-pie. Just let me get my shirt off." He lifted his shirt over his head while Squilliam turned to watch him, a stream of his long, blond hair swathed over his head and obscuring his eyes and much of his nose as he did. When he rocked his head to and fro to knock those intrepid golden locks out of his face, Squidward's smoothly swaying ass drew Squilliam's attention downward.

***

"Ready yet?" Chiseled eyes flashed with annoyance, veiling his enthusiasm.

"What? Oh, sure, go ahead."

***

Squilliam tied an herbal sachet around the faucet, ran the hot water over it as he prepared the bubble bath. "Turn on that stereo behind you, hun, I've got this wonderful new recording by Leonard Bernfish ready to go."

Classical music danced along the walls, echoed as the tub filled and Squidward tentatively submersed a tentacle in the shallow water. "Come on in. The water doesn't bite."

"It sure doesn't. But I do." Squilliam slinked into the bath, water waist deep as he nipped at Squidward's shoulder.

***

"Oh, Squiddy..."

"Did you just call me 'Squiddy'?" Harry asked, though he didn't slow the tempo of his pumping.

"Yeah, I did," he said, hitching his breath slightly. "Faster." Harry was more than happy to oblige.

Squidward shouted, "Out of my way, Tromboner-boy!" as he leapt over Rachel and the flautists, landing in Harry's lap, his chin poised next to Squilliam's hard on.

"Hello, Squiddy. How nice of you to drop by." A smile sparkled on his lips, not breaking but flaring out as the proximity of Squidward's mouth to his cock sharpened his ecstasy.

"The audacity!" He pushed Harry into the aisle, knocking him slightly off balance for a moment in the tumble of the bus.

"As if you don't deserve it." Squilliam gave an irritated nudge to his rib. "Hey, I haven't climaxed yet."

"Whoop-de-doo."

He huffed, "Well? What do you intend to do about it?"

"I don't give a damn about your -" Squilliam's sly smile and quick peck on Squidward's cheek soon proved him wrong as he began stroking. "You like that?" He varied the pressure, teasing his shaft, and almost thought he heard Squilliam squeal.

"Y-yes."

"I don't even know why I'm doing this."

"I think you know - aannn that's good - why."

Squidward grinned with a seductive smirk as he watched Squilliam's face quickly redden, faculties for snarky speech crashing down on him. There was nothing in the sea comparable to the feeling of doing all this for Squilliam. No - he wasn't doing this _for_ Squilliam, he was doing this _to_ Squilliam. Big difference. He was just getting his payback for that day in band class. Yeah...this would show him.

Squilliam didn't squeal, instead letting out a dignified "ooh." Because Squilliam Fancyson III was capable of such things. "So what are you going to do with it?" he asked, pointing to Squidward's cum-filled tentacle.

Squidward dragged his tentacle across the surface of Squilliam's nose, then leaned forward to lap at the cum that was hugging the curvature of the lowest portion of his nose.

Squilliam's nose thoroughly licked clean, Squidward displayed his tentacle, some cum still in his suction cups. "Suck it, bitch."

"Oh, Squidward. You've been getting into my bad pornography collection again, haven't you?" While Squidward bit his lower lip in embarrassment, Squilliam elegantly began sliding his tongue across each suction cup, then took the whole tentacle in his mouth, leaning against Squidward's chest as he tasted both of them together, tentacle and cum merging. Squidward was so easy, much easier than he let on. "I taste wonderful, as usual," he said as he withdrew.

"You know you liked me so much better."

"Maybe I should do a tasting for comparison." Squilliam tickled several of his thighs, giggles bubbling up from Squidward's chest.

"Yeah...maybe you should."

Squilliam pouted his lips. "Well, I'm not."

"What? Why the hell -"

"I think you know why not." Squilliam shifted into his own seat, disengaging himself from their entangled position.

"Come on, Squillie, I only did that because -"

"Shush up. And don't you call me that, Squiddy."

"Okay. Then stop calling me Squiddy."

With a chuckle, he said simply, "You know that won't ever happen. Squiddy." Squidward reclined in his seat, his four feet to the top of the seat ahead, trying to forget the blowjob that almost was.

_ 'Oh, why couldn't band camp be held a little closer to home?' _Squilliam begged of the upholstery. _'Squiddy does look stunning in this band geek get-up, though. And the sun keeps flashing on his hair, almost like he's a model or something. And his legs are at a perfectly revealing angle. Oh, Squillie, you devil.'_

Damn. Squidward had drilled that silly pet name into his thoughts, even.

***

As the bath filled up, Squidward wrapped Squilliam in an embrace with two of his outer legs, while the other two curled up, intertwined with Squilliam's and pressed against their chests.

Squilliam turned the faucet off. "You're excited, aren't you, Squiddy?"

"Well...uh..." That shy and restrained giddiness that Squidward seemed to wear when he was with him was the obvious giveaway.

"Of course you are. Who wouldn't be excited to lose their virginity to me?" He pinched the small of Squidward's back. "Are you nervous?"

Cocking his head and pulling backward a little, he said, "Of course not!"

"It's okay, Squiddy darling. You're really cute when you're nervous, you know." The tension was stronger than that between two spinning ballet dancers, one holding the other and launching him into a tours en l'air. "Give me a kiss." He slid his hand up Squidward's back, pressed their lips together but let him take over from there. When Squidward's tongue left his mouth, he gave a quick peck at his cheek and said, "You don't need to be nervous."

"That's a hot one."

"No. I mean it. I'll be as rough or gentle as you want. You don't think I'd get a reputation as such a fantastic lover by being a selfish little ass, do you?"

"Well...what if you don't like me?"

"I don't think we're in any danger of that happening."

"Come on, Squillie...I'm not that naïve."

"Would we be here now if we weren't attracted to each other? Squiddy, give yourself a little more credit."

"I've just been waiting so long for this, I don't want to screw things up. I want you to like me as much as I like you."

"I do like you, Squidward."

"No, no, I didn't mean that. I just meant -"

"Oh. Oh, right. Of course you did." He blushed, actually filling-the-cheeks blushed. Not that Squidward would ever know, given that the moment Squilliam had felt the heat on his cheeks, he shot his arms out in a makeshift embrace, burying his face in that blonde bliss known as Squidward's hair and tickling his chest and buttocks with his free tentacles. He had been right at lunchtime - Squidward felt very good to him.

In their hug-slash-make-out-session, their legs untangled, Squidward's pulled up and apart, straddling Squilliam's abdomen. As Squilliam moved from kissing the back of his head to neck to lips, Squidward slid downward, his legs pulling further upward, feet stretched to Squilliam's chest and shoulders. They were so. Tantalizingly. Close.

"_Pull your legs up. We're going to play a little game so you can be a good boyfriend for my little brother."  
_

_'No. Don't think about such a thing at a perfect moment like this, you sick bastard.'_ He took in the scent and the texture of Squidward's soap-bubbled skin.

"_Get in the back."_

"_The back of a van? Isn't that a little cliché?"_

"_Just go there."  
_

Squidward kissed the corner of Squilliam's lips. "Anything wrong, Squillie?"

"I'm fine."

"Then fuck me. I'm horny as shit for you."

"Classy, Squiddy."

_Rape wasn't supposed to feel that good. In fact, twelve-year-old Squilliam Fancyson III was pretty sure that rape was supposed to not feel good at all. He sure as hell didn't want to be screwing his date's older brother. But he couldn't ignore that subtle yet painful thrill swelling inside him._

"So?" Squidward asked, his voice brightly eager.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. But not here. It wouldn't be terribly comfortable for you."

"I don't care, let's just -"

"Trust me, Squiddy, you'll care."

_"You know, um - Greg, was it?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"I just want to, thank you for showing me how it's done. Can I have a picture? You know, to relive the memories. One that makes me feel dirty, like with your cum on my face or something."_

_"Sure thing, kiddo."  
_

_'I can't wait until mother and father see what their dirty__ little mollycoddle has been up to.'_

Squilliam stroked Squidward's nose, smiled earnestly at the nasal tittering that inevitably followed. Squidward was the epitome of innocence. And he was all his, for the night anyway. "You like these candles, Squiddy?"

"Oh, they're lovely. They really put me in the mood -"

"To fuck, yeah, I know."

"Well? Why don't we hit those sheets and make the neighbors jealous, huh?"

"In a minute." He sunk lower into the tub.

Just as Squidward was lifting himself out of it. "Squillie? You don't...want to do this?"

"I - will you give me a minute?"

"Something _is_ wrong; I knew it." He tapped his feet in a spill-the-coral posture.

"No, there's nothing - can't a cephalopod have a minute without there being something wrong? Shit, Squiddy..." He jumped out of the bath, scarcely sloshing the water as he rushed to Squidward's side, clutching his hands and leaning head against shoulder. "I do want you."

Squidward lay back against the silk sheets and numerous pillows, striking an enticing pose, eyebrows raised suggestively. Squilliam dove onto the bed beside him, twirled his hair in a tentacle, eyed his partner from tentacles to eyes. Of all the arts they dabbled in, Squidward had always been involved from an earlier age, and never had one introduced the other to a given discipline. What a treasure to be able to introduce him to the art of sex.

"You don't have to worry about me being too clingy or anything, Squillie," said Squidward, pawing at his chest. "I know you, and I knew what I was signing up for when I agreed to go on this ride. I'm just here to have some fun with you."

"Good. Good boy, Squiddy." A quick kiss to the shoulder. _'Shit. Those words aren't relieving me. I thought for sure I was anxious because I don't want to break Squiddy's heart when I dump him. What if I'm anxious that he'd actually be okay with being dumped? And I'd want him to miss me.'_

"Hey, gorgeous, when are we gonna -"

"I can't." Couldn't do it. Couldn't face those possibilities.

"Huh?"

"We - shouldn't. I know, you tell me you aren't clingy, valiant effort. But I don't want to break your heart. And no matter how much you try to deny it, I can see that you really are in love with me."

Squidward chuckled, a snort of incredulity. "You think I'm in love with you?"

Sniffles. _'Oh, please, let me run, hide, and die. Fucking nightmare.'_

"Okay, so maybe a tiny part of me is in love with you."

Cracking a smirk, Squilliam said, "The 'tiny part' must be your dick, right?"

Instead of getting angry or embarrassed, Squidward simply forced a smile and replied, "You would know. It takes one to know one, after all."

"And what is that supposed to mean? That you need a small dick to see one? That's the most pathetic comeback I've heard from you in a long time."

They held hands loosely as they sat together, everything like old times at school, except that they were naked and surrounded by silky sheets.

"You're usually far wittier than that, though. Those medications must be affecting your sass centers." His voice fell, but he didn't dare ask about the wellbeing of the recently rebuffed, however genuine his concern.

"Yeah, I already told my parents I was having a sleepover. Do you mind if I stay just this night?"

"Oh, sure, go ahead." He watched Squidward curl into his blankets. "I guess I'll get in too." When he slipped under the covers, he kept himself facing the opposite way, a large gulf between them, with the exception of a single foot he brushed against one of Squidward's in what he hoped would feel like a convincing accident.

Squidward certainly hoped his muted tears were sufficiently muted by the ravishingly soft silk sheets, tears that weren't truly muted until he felt a rough twitch from across the bed and kept himself awake for another hour to relish the contact of tentacle against tentacle. An illusion of intimacy was better than nothing.

***

Squidward sneered. "What kind of snob monograms his clarinet case in royal purple velvet?"

Squilliam inspected Squidward's own clarinet case. "What kind of guy who can discern royal purple would accessorize his cheap clarinet case with tacky pins of teenage heartthrobs? What kind of geek are you, anyway?"

"The kind of geek you'd like to fuck."

"Ooh, touché. You're just sizzling today, aren't you?"

***

It was never wise to date - no, not date, fuck - within one's section. Too much like incest.

Morning glazed the city and the eyes of the (very lightly) sleeping Squilliam, stirring him from his fitful dreams. He discreetly shuffled himself underneath the blankets, his maneuver complicated by the realization that his foot was still connected to Squidward's, each suction cup clinging desperately to another. Lifting the blanket, he took to the delicate task of separating them, piece by piece, each ga-plop of freedom sending him tingling.

Thoroughly disengaged, he approached the other side of his bed, to where Squidward snored at a steady rate, his chest slowly rising and falling, his hair swirling remarkably neat around the pillow. With a tender kiss to his nose, Squilliam left him for the cold morning air and his thoughts.

_ 'I'm hopeless. Homosexuality? Sure. An artist and a slut? Okay. But I can't, cannot, CANNOT be a homosectional. I mean, two clarinets, doing each other? What would people think?_

_ 'All right, so that's just a distraction. I mean, the fact he plays clarinet can hardly be an issue when he sucks so badly at it (really, he blows). Heh. Sucks. Blows. Squiddy would laugh at that._

_ 'I can't risk him, but how can I not?'_

***

Squidward woke up to a vaguely muffled cacophony of band chatter, only a single voice standing out from the rest as familiar and distinct in its timbre. Ironic that they who were so harmonic in class and at performances produced such discord when not directed by notes on a page or the band director's guidance.

"Squiddy, wake up. You're drooling on my shoulder."

"Wha -? Oh, sorry." Not that sorry. Knowing Squilliam, he probably got more of a thrill out of having warm saliva get on him than from that handjob earlier.

***

The smell of fresh vanilla hazelnut coffee and sunshine permeated the halls. _'So this is what it's like to wake up rich,'_ Squidward thought. _'At least he's getting me breakfast, or at least morning coffee, after that scene last night.'_

Even with that thought, the temporary loneliness of the bed was no comfort, particularly as he had nothing to do but wrestle with the events of the prior evening. Squilliam was probably trying to set him up the whole time, just to achieve that "gotcha!" moment and humiliate him for daring to think that he could ever hook up with someone as shining as Squilliam Fancyson III.

By the time an hour had passed, he was confident that Squilliam wasn't making breakfast. However, in order to be sure, he slipped on his shirt, skated across the floors to see if he was in the kitchen. "Squillie?" The bathroom. "Are you here?" The solarium.

Suspicions confirmed, he retreated to Squilliam's bedroom, grabbed his belongings and headed for the door in a spate of quiet crying.

"Where do you thin' you're goin'?" The voice was both familiar and unfamiliar. Robust, yet silky and slightly frayed.

"Oh, Maximillian. I didn't know you were still here on break."

"I have anoth'r day. An' call me Maxi." He must have noticed Squidward staring at him, with the musculature of a jock and endowed with not only the Fancyson unibrow but a damningly alluring handlebar moustache as well. He commanded a powerful air about him, such that when he told him to sit down, Squidward sat down immediately. That, or maybe it was his broken confidence that made him feel lower than anybody he might have encountered. "Wha's wrong, Squi'ward?"

"N-nothing. And call me Squiddy."

"Nothing?"

"I mean...sure, it's nothing. Who am I kidding? Your brother and I were friends...really good friends. But now he doesn't want to see me, and I am such an idiot for letting him into my heart in the first place. And you probably couldn't care less about your little brother's jilted fuck buddy."

Maximillian put his arm around Squidward in what seemed like a desperate plea of joviality. "No, tha's no' true! I care! Squill's jus' like all those other guys. You can never trust 'em, kiddo. They all wanna..." He grabbed Squidward around the waist and kissed him hard. "Like that. An' leave."

When they were separated, Squidward was stunned for a moment before flinging himself with abandon, tentacles clinging to oversized deltoids, his tongue slipping against Maximillian's, his lips bristling against that trademark handlebar as his pupils floated upward to gaze at the Fancyson unibrow. Slightly less glamorous than Squilliam's, edges frayed, though still he clearly took care to groom his, and its roughness merely contributed to his rough-and-tumble countenance. Maximillian sat on the edge of the bed next to him, kisses and touches getting uncomfortably deeper.

Squidward drew in a quick breath. _'His arms, his scent, his face, his voice - it's all wrong. Especially on Squillie's bed.' _"No, Maxi, stop."

"Why? I know the shit my broth'r puts his lovers through. You're no' the first, baby cakes."

"It doesn't feel right. Not after everything we've been through together."

"Aw, come on. You'll feel better." He nibbled at Squidward's chest.

He pushed Maximillian backward against the bed.

"You're a fool, Squiddy."

Extreme disdain seething from his lips, he said, "That's Squidward to you."

"Squill dun't care for his lovers except for wha they do for him. Tha's - it."

Squidward turned away from him and said, "He cared about _me_."

"Tha's wha everyone thinks when they're in the lips of a skilled player. Or...they're jus' naïve. You know how he talked to me about you? He always talked to me about you. He'd say, 'Maxi, I jus' can't wait to fuck that Squiddy. I jus' can't wait until I take his virginity. My Squiddy has such a hot ass, you wouldn' believe it.' He jus' wanted to hear you moan for him, like the rest of 'em. He jus' said those nice things to get you in the sack."

Squidward sniffled. "Then why did he leave before we got a chance to have sex? Why did he set up a luxurious romantic bubble bath just to run out on me when I was ready to give him the unattached pleasure he wanted from me?"

Maximillian shrugged and said, "I dunno. Maybe he wanted to be alone. Ya know, like we are." He kissed him, his aim a little sloppy, and then kissed him again. A poor comfort for Squidward's fragile ego, but it would have to suffice. In the middle of a kiss, Maximillian pulled Squidward's shirt off over his head, breaking their connection in the process.

Perhaps it was a misreading of signals when Squidward pushed him backward against the bed again, and he responded by clinging to Squidward's shoulders, bringing him crashing on top. In any case, Maximillian was the only one having fun in the unacknowledged struggle that Squidward pitched.

"Ahem."

Squidward's jaw dropped long enough for Maximillian to get his tongue inside. Immediately after shaking loose of his iron grip, he leapt away from the bed, immediately regretted this move as he remembered his nudity.

Squilliam was the first to speak up. "Maxi, are you drunk again? Dad is going to be so pissed if he finds out." Squidward hadn't considered that some other factor besides his overwhelming attractiveness might have been playing a role in their flirtations, though he had smelled the alcohol on his breath. "And Squiddy, you...whore," he intoned breathily, obviously attempting to muster up some dramatic energy.

Squidward folded his arms. "That's rich, coming from you."

"Are you calling me a whore?"

Maxi said, "Why not, ya are one."

Squilliam turned sharply on his brother. "Did I ask your opinion?" He said to Squidward, "He's such an ass when he's drunk."

"Hey, weren' you the cutie I picked up Thursday night?" He licked his lips, making eyes at Squilliam.

"Let's just say he's an ass a lot." Squidward gave a nod of understanding, while Squilliam gave the once-over to his nude body. "So Squiddy, what the hell is going on here?"

He teased Maximillian's chest with a tentacle. "Just making up for a little lost romance. Squillie-pie."

"You couldn't wait one...day. Twelve hours. A morning! A _morning_, Squidward, you couldn't handle that? You couldn't wait for me that long before sashaying your sexy self around, couldn't wait just a few hours for me to come back and talk to you. Well, go ahead and fuck! I don't care. Just don't bother me with your emotional my-life-sucks-take-care-of-me shit anymore. I'm sick of it, and I'm sick of you."

Squidward gulped, shoved Maximillian flat against the bed as he stood abruptly, lips trembling, pupils falling to converge at Squilliam's feet. "I-is that true? Squillie? You don't care... You're really sick of me?"

Squilliam took his brother by the shoulders, his anger doused as he helped his brother to stand. "I'm so sick, my stomach is churning."

"I won't bother you with my existence, then. Farewell, and if I don't see you again in an eternity it would be too soon!" He grabbed his shirt and headed for the exit.

Squilliam shut the door behind his back as Maximillian stumbled out into the hall and Squidward approached him. "Likewise. Oh, Squiddy, look, you forgot your clarinet. Isn't that silly of you?" He pointed to a corner of their room near his bed where Squidward's clarinet case sat.

He quickly retrieved his clarinet and returned to his exit strategy at a constant beat. "Yeah, I'm a fucking riot. Now, good riddance -"

"See you at six." Squilliam smiled sweetly and gave a gentle wave goodbye.

"Uh - huh?"

"For your clarinet lesson. Remember, four hours a night, seven days a week, until you're as good as I am...so I guess, an eternity."

Squidward pushed past him to leave the room, stepped over Squilliam's brother who was sprawled out over the hallway floor singing one of his band's songs out of tune. "Shut up. I don't need you to unleash my talent."

"Oh. That's too bad, then. We'll miss you in the band. Your sour notes provided a nice contrast to my exquisite playing. I guess you'll just have to quit band, flunk out of high school, and enroll in a shitty community college, and you'll never get as good as I am."

"See you at six. Jerk." He left promptly, leaving nothing but a memory and a sniffle.

It had been for the best that they split ways before they got intimate. Before things got messy.


	5. Allegretto

**Summer Nights at Band Camp**

_by Hg Muffin-Stuff_

Summary: They were rivals. They were companions. They were everything but in love. One summer night at band camp would change that, though. Or so they hoped.

**Chapter Five: Allegretto**

_ "Are you sure you have everything packed, Squiddums?" Mrs. Tentacles said, looking over his suitcase._

_ "Yes, mom." Squidward leaned against the sofa near the door._

_ "And you have plenty of underwear, right?"_

_ "YES, mom." His father walked in from the kitchen._

_ "Good, because if you want to get the attention of that boy you're after, you don't want to reek."_

_ "Thanks. I'll try to remember that."_

_ The senior Mr. Tentacles leaned back against the sofa next to Squidward and said, "Ah, band camp. You know, I had my share of gratifying experiences when I went." He gave his wife a nod, and she left the room. "I'm sure you'll do just fine, son; you've inherited the Magic Tentacles. Besides, no one can resist a clarinet."_

_ "That is true."_

_ "So who is this fellow? Anyone I know?"_

_ "Yeah. Squilliam Fancyson. He plays clarinet, too."_

_ "Squilliam? You mean Squillie? That boy you've spent hours after school with every day, even when school gets cancelled? I assumed you two already had..." Squidward shook his head 'no,' face turning dour. "I guess not. Eh heh, sorry..."_

_ "It's okay. Everyone thinks we're together, but we've just given each other hand jobs."_

_ "Here," he said, handing his son some rolled up parchment. "It's a map to the most romantic make-out spot in the area. It's nice and secluded - provides the perfect opportunity for a tryst. Take him there and don't get shy about being out in the open. Then give him a blowjob that'll make him forget about the clarinet entirely."_

_ "Sounds hard."_

_ His father chuckled. "It is."_

***

Squilliam nudged Squidward's elbow. "You fell asleep again? Are you fucking narcoleptic, Squiddy?"

A yawning glance as he tilted his head up to survey the roof, his chin eventually resting in Squilliam's lap. "Might as well be, with these pills they're giving me."

"Well, wipe that drool off your chin." He pushed him gently upright. "We're here."

The bus lurched to a stop, abrupt screech of brakes flinging to the back and coiling through the front, raking across the ears of the band students whose chatter had suddenly fallen.

Squilliam stood.

"What are you doing?" Squidward said in a sleepy monotone. "We have to wait for the people ahead of us to get off."

"All right, Mr. Let's-Do-The-Right-Thing. You can wait there. I'm going to go bribe a few bandmates. Ta."

Squilliam plopped back in his seat at a tug of his arm, his wrist attached to Squidward's hand.

"All right. But you'd better make witty conversation as long as I'm stuck sitting next to you."

"Um, okay. Any good handjobs lately?"

Blowing the bangs out of his eyes, he sniffed. "You would know."

Voice tempered by sarcasm, Squidward clapped his hands to his cheeks and said, "Wow! Could it be? A compliment from the ah-may-zing Squilliam Fancyson? Now I'm fulfilled." He hoped the flicker of truth behind his exaggerated admission would dim in the grate of his forced disdain.

"Of course you are. As would anyone."

"Oh, please, you can't help but love the way I get you off." He contorted his face, mocking. "_'As would anyone.'_ Could you get any more conceited?"

"Could _you_? At least I have the talent to back it up." He stood again, pulling Squidward up from his seat.

"Uh, so-do-I!" '_That Squilliam thinks he's so hot. Just because he's a musical prodigy (when I used to be the musical prodigy), a sophisticated person with a refined love of the arts (when I used to be that sophisticated person), and he always has a cute guy hanging off his arm (when I used to be that cute guy).'_

"Hey Squiddy! I can't hold the line for you all day," he said, moving to the front of the bus, Squidward standing still at the brink of the aisle. "Toodles!"

Squidward waded through the pulsing mob to the front of the bus, assembling in a crowd with the others by the base of a large coral tree whose trunk was hollowed out.

"Okay, everybody, can you hear me?" Mr. Shores called out, standing on top of a shoulder-height rock. "All right, we're here!" Everyone cheered, somewhat lazily. "You know you're here to practice your marching band skills, but that's not the only reason we're here this week. Now, no matter how much the school tries to promote their 'Band is Cool Now' campaign, we all know that high schoolers don't think first trumpet is quite as cool as star quarterback." Band members mumbled to each other about the understatement of the year. "So I want you to understand just how important it is to support each other, especially the freshmen. We may not always get along, but ultimately, we're in this together. Take pride in your music. Band geeks rock!" Isolated drones of "yeah," and "woo" peppered the crowd, until Mr. Shores barked, "Can I get a 'Band geeks rock?'"

"BAND GEEKS ROCK!"

"Hell yes we rock!"

"Hell yes we rock!"

"Yeah! Now, listen up for your cabin assignments, because I won't repeat myself. Cabin B -"

"Hey, Squiddy." Squilliam nudged his shoulder. "Wouldn't it be amusing if we ended up in a cabin together?"

"Oh, I'm sure we will."

Dropping his jovial deportment, he said, "What makes you so sure?"

"No reason. My life has been hysterical enough so far, though."

"Hey, Squiddy?"

"What?"

He leered from nose to hips. "You want to suck me off tonight?"

"Shut up. And I already told you - we're clarinets: we don't suck; we blow."

"Come on..."

"Yeah, right." Squidward rolled his eyes. "You never mean it. You just like to tease me."

Squilliam shrugged, idly rubbed his elbow. "You're fun to tease."

Mr. Shores clapped his hands together. "All right - put your things in your cabins and get ready for dinner in the dining hall at five."

Squidward stared blankly ahead, brushing his arm away. "What cabin did he say I'm in?"

"How should I know? Perhaps you should've paid more attention," he said, flicking his nose.

"Mr. Shores! Mister - Mr. Shores," he panted, running to catch up to the aging wrasse, whose bespectacled eyes adhered to the clipboard as he stepped off the boulder. "Can you tell me - just one more time -"

Squilliam sauntered ahead of him. "Hey, Mr. Shores, Squiddy talked my ear off during your announcement thingy; do you mind telling me what cabin I'm in?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Fancyson."

"But Mist-"

"Shush." He leafed through the papers on his clipboard. "Ah, there you are. Cabin F."

"See you at dinner, Mr. Shores. Toodle-oo!"

Squidward's jaw dropped, his brow creased, as he watched Squilliam prance off to his cabin. "But Mister -"

"Don't worry, I know he's the one who distracted you. Now you want to know your cabin assignment, right?"

"Yes, please."

"You'd better hurry if you want to catch up to him, then."

"Huh?"

"You're in Cabin F, too."

"_What_ a surprise."

"Actually, not really. The compatibility questionnaires you filled out deemed you the two most compatible cabin-mates of any pair that filled out the forms."

"How perfectly contrived."

Mr. Shores pushed his glasses to eye level. "It actually startled me a little how similar your answers were. You have the same favorite composers, the same ideal bedtime, heck - you even prefer a specific recording of your favorite concerto."

"What's so strange about liking a certain recording better? It just means I have good tastes."

"Nothing - what is a little unusual is when his favorite concerto is the same, and his preferred recording is identical to yours."

"Of course we have the same favorite concerto. He played a recording of it when we - when we practiced together."

"You practiced a lot together, didn't you?"

"Yeah. We did a lot. Of practicing," he assured Mr. Shores. "I always wanted to do more, though."

"You could always ask him."

"I've tried. He just dangles his prowess over me, and we never actually get to blow. Our clarinets, I mean."

"Oh, of course." He nodded, bit his lower lip as he looked to Squidward's feet, then said, "Mr. Tentacles, have you ever considered just asking him why he won't get intimate with you, when you two clearly have a stronger bond than he's had with any of his previous partners?"

"No, but - thanks! I'll go...ask him now." He ran off to his cabin.

He flung the door open and ignored Harry unrolling his sleeping bag on the bunk bed. "Hey, Squillie, why won't you fuck me?"

"Charming, darling. Are you going to start a poem with that line?"

"We obviously both want it, so why are you holding out on me?"

"You're right. You're smart, you're sexy, and you're absolutely right," he said, grabbing his thighs and pulling him close to kiss him. He shoved Squidward against an empty bunk, slamming their hips together in the process. "You want me to fuck you?" He ran his hand through the hair running out the back of Squidward's head, fine yet coursed with oily streaks from their long ride against hot upholstery. "Because I would, Squiddy. But you're too..."

"Go ahead, spit it out."

"Pure."

Breaking into laughter, Squidward said, "My virginity isn't exactly something I plan to hang onto much longer."

"No, no, I didn't mean that. I meant I want you to stay the way you are."

"The way I am?"

"Yes, Squiddy."

"So you're never going to have sex with me...because you want me to stay the same."

"I never said, 'never.'"

"I don't get it. Tell me what exactly you think is going to change?"

He averted his eyes. "Can I kiss you instead?"

"You can kiss me," he said, putting a hand up against Squilliam's lips as he leaned forward, "after you answer the damn question."

"People change, Squiddy. You wouldn't understand. You know, since you're a virgin."

"I won't. I promise. Please?"

He grabbed Squidward's wrist, pulling his arm away to slide their tongues into contact, pausing, anxiously expecting a slight tug of resistance that never came. Slipping his tongue back, joylessly navigating past the warm curves and bumps until unceremoniously squishing their lips apart, he stared, his gaze askew. "You're changing now."

"That's ridiculous."

Squilliam gradually loosened his grip on his shoulders, propelling himself upward against the light spring of chest and mattress. "See you at dinner, Squidward."


	6. Scherzando

**Summer Nights at Band Camp**

_by Hg Muffin-Stuff_

Summary: They were rivals. They were companions. They were everything but in love. One summer night at band camp would change that, though. Or so they hoped.

Author Note: This contains the best line of purple prose suited to a nautical theme.

**Chapter 6: Scherzando**

The pleasantly warm beads of water streaked down his chest as he lathered his hair, scrubbed his back, and soaped up under his arms. Squidward treasured solitude in his ablutions, humming as the soapsuds dripped down his legs and drained at his feet. He never left a shower until he'd made certain he was clean all over.

He turned the knob to shut the water off, tied his towel around his waist, and stepped out, expecting some remarks about hogging the shower.

"Finally, the prissy little fucker's finished."

Squidward turned his head to seek out the fish who made the comment, but no one appeared to direct any anger at him. The other guys had their attention fixed instead on Squilliam, who had just stepped out of the next stall, steady trickles of water pooling around his feet. No wonder they were pissed at him; he'd started his shower much earlier than Squidward had.

"Squilliam, how lo-ong..." His jaw dropped as he took in the gently carved pecs, abs, and thighs, the body of someone who kept fit without making himself into a jock. Acquiring a flirty tone, he twirled some hair in his hand and finished, "...Have you been working out?"

"I think you know how long, Squiddy."

"Oh...you look good." He tightened his towel around his waist. "Really - good."

Squilliam squinted, eying him as he leaned against the wall, shifting his hips away and tightening his towel once again. "What are you trying to hide? I've seen you nude; you're absolutely fabulous. Especially when you're sopping wet like that." He licked his lips. "Now come on, let's go get dressed," he said, grabbing the end of his towel and slapping it against Squidward's ass, dropping his towel to the ground. Face flushed, Squidward grabbed his own towel, creased his brow, and chased after him, neglecting to cover his waist as they ran to their cabin.

He opened the door to see Squilliam standing by his own bed, leaning back as he lifted a foot up and held it behind his head, flicking his hair back as he picked his towel up from the ground.

Squidward glimpsed the allure in his eyes, took it as a personal challenge and sat on his bed facing Squilliam. Twiddling a lock of his drenched hair between his suction cups, he ripped his towel off and began to rub it across his chest, playing at his perked up nipples. He stretched his tongue to tease the wet ends of his hair.

"Hey, can I join in?" asked Harry, stepping between them dressed in the top half of his band uniform and nothing else.

Squilliam snorted, "Go fuck yourself," and proceeded to do the splits, licking the tips of his front feet before bending backward to touch his posterior feet, leaning toward Squidward at an angle to better expose his anterior side.

"No, really, I think you guys are hot. How about we do a trio before practice? And I don't mean a musical trio."

"We got that," they said simultaneously.

"So you want to try that, or what?"

Squilliam smirked. "Tell you what, Harry - you hurry off to breakfast and I'll get back to you."

"Can do," he said, pulling his pants on.

"Now where were we?" He lowered his eyelids, watched as Squidward draped his hair around his body, then shook it up to reveal his eyes and shoulder. "Oh yes, there. You make this so hard on me, Squiddy." He stood, walked to the edge of the bed, and sat on his lap, wrapping his towel around Squidward's back, slipping it up around his neck and squeezing his hair into the soft folds of Egyptian cotton. He tilted his head to close their lips together, laughing nervously as their noses bumped.

Harry tripped over his trombone case and on top of them, breaking them apart. His hands landed conspicuously near their dicks.

Squidward smacked his fin away and shuffled toward the opposite edge of the bed in retreat, pushing Harry backward to fall over his trombone again. He landed flat on his ass, to their bemusement. "How did you end up in our cabin, anyway?"

"I was the least compatible with anyone."

"That makes sense." Squidward snickered.

"After all, when half the guys are nervous geeks and losers, where would a cool guy like me fit in? I guess the coolest guys they could squeeze out of this ragtag band were the gay slut and the virgin loner."

He blinked at Squilliam. "I have to admit, he got us pretty good."

Squilliam raised his unibrow in unimpressed contempt. "Oh, please. And I suppose you're a monogamous heterosexual?"

"Hey, I only fuck you when I'm between boyfriends," Harry said, picking up his trombone.

"So that'd be...all the time?"

"You wish. At least I'm getting some," he said, taking his trombone and shutting the door behind him.

Squilliam retrieved his towel from underneath Squidward and dried his hair.

Squidward began to brush through his hair. "Squillie? When he said, 'At least I'm getting some,' what did he mean by that?"

"Nothing. He's an idiot." He rolled up his towel and threw it onto his bed.

"But you always tell me about the guys you're screwing. You'd think he'd know -"

"Maybe because he does know, Squiddy. Maybe he knows a little more about my sex life than you do."

"So you're really not getting any?"

"That's right."

"Why?"

"Do you need to know why?"

He planted his hands on his hips and asked, voice grindingly indignant, "Yes, I do! Are you a masochist?"

Squilliam burst into light-hearted laughter, dissolving into a sigh. "Yes, a little. How'd you know?"

"Because there's no other explanation for why you'd deprive yourself like this when I'm right here, just waiting for you to fuck me into the ground."

"Please don't talk that way, Squiddy."

"Why -"

"I said, 'don't talk that way.'"

"Okay, Squillie. I just can't wait for you to gently fuck me into blissfully transcendent orgasm. How's that?"

"Wonderfully saccharine."

"Oh shrimp! We're really late for breakfast. Quick, give me my brush."

He tugged on Squidward's forearm to examine his wristwatch, gulped, and reached for the brush. As he handed the brush off, he leaped to his own bed, pulling Squidward along as they remained latched together. Their legs tangled together as they tumbled off onto the hardwood floor in a knot. They muttered as they tried to separate, tentacles twisting, sucking against each other as they pulled their limbs apart.

Disengaged, they scrambled to put on their band uniforms.

Squilliam ran a comb through his hair a few times before making a brisk advance to the door. He turned the knob a quarter of the way before glancing back at Squidward, who sat leisurely brushing his hair, unraveling bundles of hair that had long untangled. "Squiddy!" he said, voice getting shrill.

"What?"

"Hurry it up. I don't have all day."

"You don't have to wait for me, you know."

"You're right. I don't." He stomped back to the bed and squeezed his hand around Squidward's wrist, flinging the brush into the air as he dragged him to the door. "Sweetie, we're spending the next four hours marching. You're going to need a good breakfast more than you'll need mind-blowingly perfect hair."

"I guess that makes - you think my hair is mind-blowing?"

"I - uh, just hurry up." He swung the door open, letting Squidward leave. After his first step outside, Squilliam stopped him to drag a tentacle-full of Squidward's hair against his cheek. As he let go of the thick lock of hair, he picked up his clarinet and said, "Let's go."

Squidward sat at the end of a crowded table, half of his ass perched on a creaky wooden plank of a bench, setting him an inch off-kilter as he chewed his kelp and coral bits at a monotonously fuming pace. Squilliam approached from behind and nudged the fish next to Squidward. "I need to sit next to Squiddy. Move it."

"Save it," Squidward snapped.

Pulling the guy next to Squidward off of the bench, he slid his elbow onto the table, the back of his tentacle propping up his chin. "I don't get what's the big deal?"

"Shut it."

"You got the right music after -"

"I said, 'Shut -'"

"Can't you admit it's a little funny?"

"No, I can't. You completely humiliated me! Why would you do something like that to me?" He put his head in his hands, tears beginning to wet his tentacles.

"Will you stop harassing me about it already? And the reason, the reason I -"

"I thought you liked me."

"Yes," Squilliam said, his words vacant in tone.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Yes, you thought you liked me? Yes, you know I thought you liked me? Or..."

"For fuck's sake, darling, give it a rest. It's the first thing. The first thing you thought, not the first thing you said. But of course you knew that already."

"Sometimes I doubt it."

"Don't. Just because I like to see what you're made of doesn't mean I hate you. No one likes a sycophant or a batterer. You're one of the few people I can royally piss off without you turning into one of those things."

"I guess that's like a compliment," Squidward said into his fork.

"Take it how you want. It's the truth."

"So you made me sound awful in front of everyone just to confirm I won't drop on my knees to lick your ass afterward?"

"I think you'll be much more amenable to the idea once you've tried it. And Squiddy, you don't need any help to sound bad."

"Then why did you change my sheet music, if I'm so reliably bad on my own?"

"Exactly."

"What?"

"Think about it."

"No way I'm licking your ass, Fancyboy. I don't care how much I want to."

"Not that! Though I can't say I'd argue..."

Mr. Shores walked to their table and said, "Mr. Tentacles, I want to congratulate you on your tremendous improvement since the spring. Your dedication to the clarinet is nothing short of astounding."

Squidward said, "Thank you, sir. It's been my pleasure -"

"Our pleasure," Squilliam interjected.

"Excuse me?" Suspicion glazed his eyes as he scanned his companion's features for a clue as to what he meant.

"You're a very pleasant student, Squiddy. Don't you agree, Mr. Shores?"

"Yes, a pleasure to have in class." He turned around to approach another table, saying, "Enjoy your dinner!" as he waved his fin in dismissal.

Squidward adopted a sullen tilt of the shoulders as he let his head droop into his hand, leaning pointedly away from Squilliam.

"You don't have to thank me."

"Thank you? Why would I -?"

"Oh, stop it. I can't take all this adoration."

"Yeah, so you played with me after school, big deal. I'm still not getting down on my knees to thank you."

"Will you get down on your knees to do anything else for me?" Squilliam tilted his unibrow suggestively.

"In your dreams - you really mean it?"

"What do you think, darling?"

Squidward bit his lower lip. "Where are we going to -"

"I reserved a practice room tonight. Come at 4:25."

"I don't think I can time it like that."

"You know what I mean. That's when I reserved the room."

"Oh. Right," he said, blushing.

"That's good - when my cheeks turn that shade," he stroked Squidward's cheek, "you'll know you're doing it right."

He wrapped a foot around one of Squilliam's ankles, his suction cups gliding along slippery skin, pausing at the convergence of his feet.

"This peasant-slop is going to put me into hospital before the week is through," he bemoaned, stirring the food in his tray until it had resolved into a greenish-grey sludge.

"You never complained like this when I made your lunches."

"Yeah, well your mediocrity has character. This is just horrible."

"Agreed."

Squidward stood outside the grey stitched metal practice room and checked his watch as the hand shifted to indicate 4:27. The door opened, and a tentacle reaching out to grab him by his biceps pulled him inside. Squilliam propped him up on a stool in front of a music stand and a piano. Lithely scooting next to him, grasping his shoulders to move him onto the ground, he asked Squidward to close his eyes and open his mouth wide for a pleasant surprise.

He obediently closed his eyes and opened his mouth, tickling the back of his knees and thighs as he leaned forward in anticipation of a taste of Squilliam's hot dick.

What he got instead was a mouth full of Squilliam's cold clarinet.

Backing away, he pulled his lips off the mouthpiece and shoved the clarinet toward Squilliam's lap. "The hell is this? Squillie, what the fuck -"

"Don't worry, I moistened the reed already." Squilliam smiled sweetly, forcing Squidward into dumbfounded stuttering. "Go ahead, Squiddy. Blow me away." He passed the clarinet back.

After he played for a minute from their repertoire, Squilliam stopped him to say, "Okay, that's enough. Good start, but why don't you try doing it more like this?" He took his clarinet into his hands. "I want you to pay special attention to how I finger this." He played the piece, said, "_That's_ how it's supposed to sound. Try it again."

Squidward resumed, but before he'd completed the first measure, Squilliam interrupted him, saying, "I cannot stress the importance of agile tonguing enough." Twiddling his tentacle along the bell of his clarinet, he asked Squidward to demonstrate how he tongued the beginning.

He opened his mouth and flicked his tongue against the tip of the reed.

Squilliam shook his head 'no' and said, "It's more like this," taking his clarinet and showing him. He handed his clarinet back to Squidward.

He donned a coy expression, said, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," and tilted the clarinet slightly in Squilliam's direction.

He said, "Like this," cupping the back of his head in a tentacle, lips pulsing over lips, pulling his tongue repeatedly up against their teeth. Squidward exhaled breathlessly. Squilliam leaned back, said, "Did - did you catch that, Squiddy?" then leaned back into his face, his right hand slipping against his shoulder while his left hand closed over the hand holding his clarinet.

Squidward nodded, their heads moving in tandem.

"G-good. I'd hate to have to repeat myself."

"Repeat yourself. Please," he said, his eyes widening in glossy pleading.

He slid his tongue between their lips, lightly playing at the side of Squidward's tongue before scraping against his teeth as he retreated, sucking at the corner of his mouth. "How was that for an encore?"

He responded by pressing their lips together again, slipping his tongue into Squilliam's mouth, their teeth bumping into each other. "Ow - sorry." He moved closer in again, their tongues meeting and tangling, hardening and softening as he squeezed his hip.

"You're out of practice." He smiled and took his clarinet, prying it out of Squidward's tight grip and gently setting it into its case. "That's a naughty boy. You need a refresher." Tugging at his shirt collar, he pulled him close to kiss, shifting their weight onto the keys of the piano behind him. Squidward brushed his lips away and dragged his tongue upward against his neck, grazing his teeth below the jaw. As Squilliam moaned, he licked voraciously at the base of his neck, shifting his collar as Squidward slipped his arm up the back of his shirt, using his tentacles to cop a generous feel of ass.

The door creaked open. "Hey, I just wanted -" Mr. Shores gave a wry smile. "Guys, this is a music practice room, not your private suite to practice necking."

"Oh!" Squilliam moaned. "Oh," he said, pulling out of Squidward's tentacles, shifting himself onto the piano bench. "Of course."

"Anyway, I just wanted to let you guys know we have an activity scheduled in five minutes, so you might want to -" he gulped, "wrap things up."

"Right away, Mr. Shores," they chimed in unison.

"Right," he said, closing the door on them as he left.

Squilliam tucked his head into Squidward's neck, reaching under his shirt to tickle his nipple. "Oh, Squiddy, are you as excited as I am?"

"I can't believe - he almost caught us -"

"How about we skip that activity and start a little activity of our own, hmm?"

"Have you flipped your barnacle, Squillie?" He sat next to him on the piano bench. "He almost caught us! What if he comes back and we're -"

He clutched at the collar of Squidward's shirt, kissing him deeply, forcefully. "You were saying?"

He gripped Squilliam's thigh, lifting him up as he slid his tongue against his neck.

"Squiddy -"

He navigated to the buttocks.

"No, Squiddy wait -"

Squilliam slanted against him, the piano bench tilting up and spilling them onto the floor.

"I think I've fractured something! Do they have doctors here? What if I need surgery?"

Squidward groaned. "You drama queen. Get up." He rolled onto his side and sat up, reaching out a hand to Squilliam.

He stood up, his back slanted forward. "I'm hobbled. Dear Neptune, look what you've done to me, Squiddy."

"I'm sure you're fine."

"That's easy for you to say," he averted his eyes and spoke lower, "considering you didn't even kiss it better."

"W-fwhat?" He tried to conceal his mocking laughter, but failed spectacularly. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

"No, it's okay." He gently cupped his hand around Squilliam's waist from behind, rubbing along his ribs. "Where does it hurt?"

"Under my shoulder blade." Squidward lifted his shirt up and wetted his lips before kissing. "Mmm, that's good."

"There. You're all better now, right?"

"I dunno...the pain is radiating lower."

He squeezed Squilliam's lower abdomen, descending as he licked his back in long uneven strokes punctuated by sloppily executed smacks of lips.

"Oh," he moaned as Squidward lolled his tongue against the curve of his ass, "you're good, Squiddy."

"Good enough to make you cry?" he asked, tightening his grip around Squilliam's waist and grabbing his hips.

"Well, we'll see about that, won't we?"

He pressed nose up against ass, indulging in the contact. Squilliam indeed had the perfect ass. Not too small, not too big. Firm as a board and springy as a marshmallow at the same time. Perfection his parents hadn't bought for him. "Sorry, Fancyboy. I told you before, there's no way I'm licking your ass."

Breaking out of Squidward's embrace, he turned and adopted an indignant pout. "You, darling, are a tease."

"I'd be more than happy to lick your balls, though."

"And I'd be more than happy to let you." As Squidward leaned forward, Squilliam stepped backward. "When you've washed up first. Your mouth looks absolutely filthy."

"What?" He fell to his knees in exasperation.

"You're telling me you'd actually want that mouth on _your_ dick?"

"I'll have you know that just last week -"

"Okay, Squiddy, I don't need to hear about your exploits in autofellatio. Though I'd love to see you demonstrate."

He crossed his arms, as though this would hide his reddening cheeks. "I _was_ going to say my dentist complimented my oral hygiene."

"So...can you do it?"

"Uh...why would you even ask me that?"

"You can!" Squilliam said with childlike glee. "You have to let me watch you sometime."

"You might get lucky," he said, smiling, "if you let me get lucky first."

They left the room, the door making a thud-latch as it closed, and they headed for the field.

"That sounds like some school. I wish I could take music all day instead of gym," Squidward said, his voice fanciful.

"I still have to take gym, silly."

"Oh."

"Yeah, I'm taking ballroom dance for my P.E. credit."

"You're taking _ballroom dance_? I wish I could go there too."

"Now that's silly. You have to have either talent, money, or, in my case - both - to get in."

"I may not have wads of cash oozing out of my ass like you, but I have plenty of talent."

"Tell it to my flesh clarinet, Squiddy."

"Your - what?" Squilliam flashed his cock. "What are you, thirteen?" He rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Squiddy, you know you love my dick."

"Yeah, I love it when I'm touching it, not when you wave it around like a sparkler."

"Anyway, you of all people know very well I'm sixteen. I adored your birthday present." Squilliam kicked a stone in front of Squidward.

He kicked it out in front of them. "It was nothing. Just a little something I made in ceramics especially for you."

"It's the most thoughtful gift anyone's ever given me."

"Really? What'd your parents get you?"

He kicked the rock a short distance ahead. "My mother...had a more important engagement to attend to, and my father gave me balls." As Squidward raised his eyebrow, Squilliam nudged his elbow. "Sports balls, darling. A huge closet full of them." He kicked the rock again a short spurt out. "I had to say thanks, but..."

"Not what you were expecting?"

"..._No thanks_." The rock tumbled obliquely off the path as he gave it a final, powerful kick. "He knows that's not what I meant when I told him I liked balls."

"No shit." They passed into a clearing of sea grass and giant kelp. "You know, something's been on my mind since this morning, and I want you to tell me the truth."

"What is it, Squiddy?"

"You said you aren't getting any. If you don't want to fuck me, okay, I get that, but why aren't you sleeping with other people?"

Squilliam stood still.

Squidward stopped a pace ahead, turned to face him more directly. "Well?"

He cupped Squidward's cheek into his hand, eyes brimming with exhausted exuberance. "Maybe because 'other people' got tired of me crying your name out during sex," he said, lightly patting his cheek before walking past him.

His face reddening, his insistent grimace tweaked into a nervous smile as his eyes followed Squilliam. "Squillie..."

"Don't look at me like that."

"Oh, I'm sorry - is this better?" Squidward sprinted to catch up to him, grasped onto his elbows, and fell to his knees as he gave his most impressive orgasm face.

"S-stop," he said, pushing him back and up to his feet.

"Wait - Harry didn't mind. And what about the guys who are just experimenting? I'm pretty sure they wouldn't care what you call them as long as you don't call them 'fag.'"

"What do you think you are, darling?"

"Touché."

They arrived at the field where everyone had already gathered sitting around Mr. Shores as he explained the activity. Squilliam sat first, Squidward succeeding him to the ground as though their wrists were bound together.

"...Once you get past the tire obstacle, pass the egg from your spoon to your partner's. Then they cross the pit of sea spiders to the finish line. If you drop it, you're out. Got it?" The group nodded. "Okay. Pair up."

Squidward turned to Squilliam. "You want to be my partner?"

"No. I want to win." He stood and approached James Finn. "Let's pair up, shall we, Jamie? I'll do the tire part, and you can trudge through the -"

"Not this time, Squilliam. I'm going after that knockout on two fins, Tracy Flannigan."

"But -"

"Hey, Tracy, wanna be on my team?"

"Sure," she said, flicking the hair out of her eyes. "I'll go get the spoons and stuff we need."

"You dick," Squilliam said.

"You'd have done the same. Besides, don't you have Squidward?"

"That's what everyone says. I'll never win with him, though."

"Dude, you think I picked Tracy so I could win? She's as clumsy as a fish with a broken swim bladder. But I like her, and I want her to like me. Who gives a fuck if we win?"

"You may have a point." He ran after Squidward, who stood talking to a short boy. "Squiddy! Oh, Squiddy!"

"What?" he said.

"Changed my mind - I want you after all."

"Sorry, Squillie. I'm Jeffery's partner now."

"You can't do that!" he screeched in the manner of a spoiled child.

"Oh, yeah? And why not?"

"Because, I'll...I'll uh - withhold sex from you."

"Some threat. Like you haven't done that since the day we met."

"Fine. Go ahead and be Jeffery's partner. See if I care."

"I don't," Squidward said dryly.

"I said, 'See if I care,' not 'See if _you_ care,' dumbass. Rachel, do you have a partner yet?"

"No - you want to be my partner?" she asked.

"I guess I have no choice, since no one else wants to do it with me."

"Um, okay..." She got the spoons and the egg. "So when I cross the tires, have your spoon ready in your mouth for me to -"

"Excuse me, but I'm not setting one tentacle near that writhing mass of sea spiders."

"Well, _I'm_ not doing it!"

"Why not? You're a feminist, aren't you? Didn't you win the equal right to walk through pits of icky creatures?"

"I'm allergic - what's your excuse?"

"Are you kidding? You want me to soil these amazingly talented tentacles? In your dreams, Rache."

"It's Rachel. And you have to do it, or stop being an ass and sit it out."

Squilliam smiled. "I have a better idea." He ran to where Squidward practiced balancing his egg in his spoon at the start line. "Squiddy," he said.

"Squilliam, I already told you -"

"No, wait - listen. Rachel is allergic to sea spiders, and I really don't want to wade through that nasty pit, so I thought maybe we could get Jeffery and Rachel to partner up, making us free to do it with each other."

"I guess we could - hey! You're making _me_ walk through the spiders? I don't think so, Squillie."

"Then again, it really doesn't matter who does _what_. Just so long as we _do it_."

He grinned widely. "I'll fill them in on the change of plans."

Squidward waited at the starting line, egg wobbling in the spoon he held in his mouth, while Squilliam stood at the end of a series of tires, a spoon in his hand.

"Ready..." said Mr. Shores, "Set... Go!" He clanged a bell. Squidward began making his way through the tires as Squilliam leisurely buffed his nails, waiting for the egg to arrive.

"Come on, Elliot!"

"Joanne, you can do it!"

"Jamie, get your ass over here!"

"Squiddy, will you hurry it up a tad?" he asked sweetly. "Because we're kind of LOSING!"

Squidward flipped him off and kept his pace.

"Is that all you have? I've seen snails with more speed than you."

He put his hands at his hips and scrunched his eyebrows to tip off Squilliam's pissed-off-o-meter, then slowed to a purposefully viscous pace.

"Squidward! You'll run here as fast as you can, or - or I'm going to -" He had no idea what threat he intended to issue. Squidward typically interrupted him with a wisecrack by that point. His mind had grown lazily dependent on those interruptions.

Squidward smiled self-satisfactorily, his teeth showing as he held the spoon steady between them.

"Fucking - you know what, you say I'm like a thirteen-year-old, but you know what? You're acting like you're thirteen! You're just another -" Inspiration struck. "Hey, honey!" He slapped his ass, wiggling his behind in front of Squidward's face. "You want a piece of this?"

Squidward bit down hard on the spoon, causing the egg to flip up and land in his mouth. The shell cracked, dripping yolk into his mouth, while the other half of the shell remained unbroken and tottering on the spoon handle just against his lips.

Squilliam chuckled. "So how do you like sucking eggs, Squiddy? Preparing for the rest of your life, I see."

"Newsflash, Fancyson -" Squidward said, smearing the rest of the shell and a glop of yolk off his lips, "You just lost, too."


	7. Vivacissimamente

**Summer Nights at Band Camp**

_by Hg Muffin-Stuff_

Summary: They were rivals. They were companions. They were everything but in love. One summer night at band camp would change that, though. Or so they hoped.

**Chapter 7: Vivacissimamente**

As they wrapped up their Wednesday morning practice session, Squilliam volunteered to collect those instruments that were on loan from the school. Squidward stayed behind to watch him as the others went back to their cabins.

"So," Squidward said, "this is what you do when a teacher won't let you literally kiss their ass."

"Like you've never kissed ass before."

"Not literally. Et tu, Squillie?"

"You've kissed so much ass metaphorically that it more than makes up for the ass I've kissed literally."

Squidward reclined against a coral tree and said, "I can give you that. Provided you agree to one thing," he said, grinning eagerly as he approached Squilliam.

"What's that?" he asked earnestly.

"Eat my ass out." He broke his serious expression to burst into laughter, his cackling uninterrupted as he wiped a tear from his eye.

"Very funny, Squiddy." Squidward followed him as he finished stowing the woodwinds in the instrument locker, always keeping within three feet of him like a curious child at a supermarket. "You know," Squilliam said, turning back abruptly to face him, "the clarinet is extremely sexy." He opened his clarinet case, revealing his personal instrument.

A slight smile crept on Squidward's face. "You have an amazing clarinet."

"I never realized how sexy clarinets were until I saw one in your mouth, dear."

"R-really?"

"Oh, yes," he said, tickling Squidward's shoulders with his suction cups. "From the day I first saw you playing him -"

"Her."

"Her?" He raised his unibrow. Squidward nodded. "Hm. Well, whatever. It seems strange to me, but if you want to refer to your phallic instrument by female pronouns, that's fine by me. Anyway, when I first saw you playing her, I saw clarinets completely differently. They weren't just wooden tubes with keys and holes, a means to make art - I saw that they are art. Orgasmic art."

His lips trembled. "Why are you s-saying all this?"

"Oh. Um...you know, I forgot." As Squidward began to walk away, Squilliam said, "You're like a clarinet."

"Huh?"

"You're much better off as a work of art than as something that makes art. Like a clarinet. And, like a clarinet, you're simply orgasmic."

"You lying son of a motherfucking cocksucker!" Veins bulged across his neck and head. "You traitor! Clarinets produce some of the most exquisite music in existence, that by far transcends their aesthetic beauty and how dare you question the overwhelming awesomeness of the clarinet you cocksucking whore?"

"Squiddy, I love the clarinet more than any other instrument. But I'm sorry, concertos don't give me boners."

"Well, that's you."

"You know what does give me a boner?"

"My ass."

"Aww, are you psychic or somethin'? No fair." He gently massaged Squidward's shoulders, rubbing his nose against the back of his neck. "You make me so hot. I'm going to finger you like my clarinet and tongue you like my reed until you make music more beautiful than any clarinet has ever made." He slid his tentacles down to press against his chest, his right arm slipping down to squeeze his hip. He licked the back of his jaw. "Have you ever fucked a clarinet?" he asked breathily, taking his clarinet and holding it against Squidward's back.

"Squillie, I don't, no -"

"Well then, you can tell everyone that this one time at band camp," he said, giggling as he pushed the two of them to the ground, "you had a clarinet stuck up your ass." Squilliam swiftly thrust the bell of his clarinet up against his lower back, swiveling it against the base of his spine.

"No - pl-plea-n" His heart skipped a beat, resuming on a progressively rapid and irregular schedule as his muscles tensed to an incomprehensible rigidity. He screamed, swiping his tentacles in all directions, striking Squilliam's face and forearm, knocking his clarinet out of his grasp and into the sand. He screamed again.

Squilliam stared, his lips trembling, his bluish hue fading. "Oh shit, I - Squiddy, I was just joking, I swear I didn't mean anything by it - you know I'd never..."

Mr. Shores came running. "What happened?"

Squilliam instead kneeled down to where Squidward lay crouched, trembling. "Squiddy, I'm _sorry_. It was just a joke, please, say something to -" he touched his hand, getting promptly smacked in the nose. "What the hell...? I'm bleeding."

"Fancyson, get away from him."

"But -"

"Now."

"Yes, Mr. Shores." He rose, picking up his clarinet and brushing some of the sand out of the tone holes, giving the mouthpiece a dignified kiss of satisfaction before looking back to Squidward.

"Squidward," said Mr. Shores, squatting beside him, "it's okay. You're safe. You're at band camp. No one's hurting you. I won't let anyone hurt you. Everything is okay."

Squilliam scraped his foot listlessly in swirls along the sand. Had he done all that to Squidward? Oh fuck, he was crying now. And he couldn't touch him, just watch, nervously biting the tip of his tentacle. Some blood dripped onto his sleeve, flowing uninhibited along the curve of his nose. He paused a moment before fumbling for his handkerchief and dabbing it at his nostril.

"Go back to your cabin, Mr. Fancyson."

"But -"

"Squidward wants you to go," he said, handing Squidward a tissue. "I'll finish putting the instruments away."

"Oh - okay, I'll...go."

Squilliam lay on his cot, nibbling at some gourmet trail mix from a silver container, his bloodied handkerchief lying folded next to his pillow. He shifted himself to lie down on his other side, moving his silk pillows to accompany the shoulder he had compressed into the bed.

"Mail call, Squilliam," said Harry as he handed him his mail.

"Oh, thanks - hey, how'd you get your fins on my mail, anyway?"

"Guess they just trust me."

"That is a hot one." He dropped his letters to the ground.

"Aren't you going to read those?"

"Maybe."

"Your parents still have spiny urchins stuck up their asses about you trying to date Squidward?"

"No - I mean yeah, but - no...fuck, I'm such a - Squidward...no, not me."

"If you're going to say something, say it, don't do a stuttering jig to say something without actually saying it."

"He's the only one who really loves me. But he doesn't deserve a fuck-up like me."

"Fuck-up? Do you even listen to yourself talk?"

"I meant emotional fuck-up. Obviously I'm great at everything else."

Harry shrugged. "Everyone's an emotional fuck-up, Squillie."

"Hey! Only Squiddy gets to call me that."

"I guess you have more important things on your mind."

The stoutly creaking of the cabin door opening drew their attention to the front of the cabin as Squidward walked in, awash in a bare confidence.

"Here's your mail," said Harry, handing him a letter, which he took in hand as he walked, never stalling in his stride.

"Thanks," Squidward said, speaking quietly. If he spoke any louder, he feared his voice would give away the volatility of his thoughts. He sat on his bed.

Squilliam turned to him, leaning forward in shrill desperation. "Squidward, I -"

"I know you would never hurt me. I never thought _you_ were going to hurt me."

"I was just fooling around. I didn't want to hurt you; that's the last thing I want, you know that."

"I could've gotten you in trouble for sexual harassment, you know."

"But you didn't. Why is that, Squiddy?"

Squidward turned away from him, silent.

Harry put down his letter. "Sexual harassment? Holy hell, what did you do to him?"

"Is that any of your business?" Squilliam snapped, before adopting an apologetic tone as he touched Squidward's cheek. "Aw, I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. You know I was just kidding, right? No hard feelings." Squilliam backed up a bit and snorted. "Heh, get it? Hard?"

Squidward said dryly, "Hilarious," and opened his letter, reading it against his pillow as Squilliam crept up from behind to read surreptitiously.

_ 'Dearest Squiddums,_

_ 'How is band camp so far? Are you having a good time playing your clarinet? Have you made any new friends? I'm tidying up the house, so you can decide how we'll re-decorate it when you get back as long as it isn't too expensive. Your father is doing well, though his boss is getting on his case more now that the financial quarter is coming to a close, and he's a little stressed and at the office even more than usual.'_

Squilliam snatched the letter out of his hand and continued to read aloud: "'So, have you made any progress with that sexy young clarinetist you're so madly in love with? What was his name again?'" He fended off Squidward by engaging in a game of defensive tentacle patty cake. "'Scotty? Danny? Don't be too disappointed if he doesn't love you back, _Squiddums_; your mama had her share of heartbreaks before finally meeting and marrying your father. Just show him the wonderful guy you are, and I'm sure he'll just love you. If he doesn't, don't get too down on yourself over it - we both know he's the one missing out.'"

Squidward grabbed the letter back from him. "Give me that!"

He smiled. "But of course, Squiddums_. _Ooh, that rolls off the tongue. I think I'm going to start calling you that."

"Please don't."

"Squiddums, huh?" Harry said with a chortle. Squidward shot him a look of murder.

Sighing, Squilliam said, "You never let me have any fun." He sat in his bed eating trail mix for another minute as Squidward read over the letter. "So what are you going to tell her?"

"About what?"

"You know - that sexy clarinetist you're pursuing." He wiggled his unibrow while twiddling a dried cranberry in his hand.

"None of your business." Squidward turned away, his head in hand.

"I think it is my business."

He turned sharply back. "How do you figure?"

"If you're chasing that E flat-blowing hussy Davy, it sure is my damn business."

"I'm going to tell her he's being a jerk if you don't back off."

Squilliam smiled suggestively. "Why, Squiddy. I had no idea."

"No idea my ass."

"Madly in love with me, eh, Squiddy?"

Squidward set his head in his hands, obscuring his face and revealing only his eyes, bangs, and half of his nose squishing out over his tentacles.

"There," he slid his hand over Squidward's to tug on the corner of his mouth. "_That_ is my answer."

"So, what are you doing for the talent show?" he asked, looking away and trying to act casual.

"I am going to be amazing. What about you?"

"Interpretive dance."

When they finished their afternoon practice, Mr. Shores announced that he would personally put away the school instruments.

Squidward poked Squilliam's thigh. "Why don't you follow me into the woods so I can show you - ah...a special fingering technique."

He raised his unibrow. "What can you show me there that you can't show me in a soundproof practice room?"

"Natural wonders that will take your breath away."

"You want Mother Nature to do your job for you? Lazy bitch." He followed Squidward.

They arrived at a log by a stream overlooking a large canyon. "Well, we're here," said Squidward.

"So what did you want to do?"

"I'm up for - almost - anything," he said. "Just don't try to shove your clarinet inside me, all right?"

"Is that all?" He tried to feign joviality. "I can remember that. It isn't my clarinet I want to put inside you, anyway." Smirking a little, he said, "I thought you only wanted to have sex for love."

"But there's more than just romantic love. We can make love without making it anything more than what it is." As he reached for Squilliam's thighs, he bumped his arm into his clarinet, knocking his sheet music out of the sleeve of the case. "Damn it!" he scrambled to pick up the scattered papers. "Can you help me out here?"

"You and your cheap little clarinet case," he said, bending down to pick up the papers that had blown out of Squidward's immediate vicinity. He paused to read one.

"Squillie," he said, running to the edge of the stream to retrieve some stray sheets, "I like to study music as much as you do, but give me a break."

"No, no, I'm not studying – I mean, I am, but not for school. This is the music I wrote for you."

He joined Squilliam and looked over his shoulder. "Let me see that," he said, grabbing it. "This is the music you sabotaged me with. It even says, 'Flight of the Jellyfish.'"

"Read the subtitle, darling."

"'Ode to Squiddy.'"

"I have the lyrics written down in the cabin."

"Oh. That's okay, it can -"

"Oh, I remember it. Play, and I'll sing."

Squidward played a scale, then the piece in question, as Squilliam sang:

"_You capture eyes and minds in captivation_

_As simple things like smiles and smirks_

_Can swing me from depression to elation,_

_Inspiring me to try until I find what works_

_To make you high like you've made me_

_And never let you run into stormy waves alone_

_Or leave your precious shoulders to bear the load _

_To make you higher than the surface of the sea_

_Or leave your gorgeous laugh to laugh alone_

_And always we will travel dear lover on this road."_

Squidward lowered his clarinet, licking away some of the excess saliva hanging off his lip. "You rhymed 'alone' with 'alone'?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"It's a valid artistic choice!"

"Wow...I can't believe you did all this. You could've thought of a better way than replacing my sheet music, though."

Squilliam shrugged, staring distractedly into Squidward's shoulder. "I couldn't think of anything."

"You composed this beautiful piece of music, and these amazing lyrics, and you're telling me you couldn't think of a single better way to give it to me?"

"I'm an artistic genius. I'm too busy making art to waste time on the distribution."

Squidward kissed his cheek. "I want your cock, Squillie."

Chuckling, he said, "That would make a very obvious 'I want' song, wouldn't it?" He clutched at his ass, holding him tightly against his chest as he rested his nose against his shoulders, mumbling something inaudibly.

He tilted his head back just enough to let his hair tickle Squilliam's face as he moved. "Hmm?"

"Let's pretend we're strangers."

"Okay," he said. "Like a roleplay?"

"Yeah, sure. Like a roleplay."

"Sounds sexy." He fiddled with the tassels of his uniformed shoulder. "I'll be that senior who sees you coming out of band practice and has a really nice new boat. You'll get in, and that's when the real fun begins."

"Where are we going to get a boat out here?"

"Use your imagination. You know, like our improv exercises."

"Oh, yes. Just like acting."

Squidward grabbed his hand, leading him to a smoothed and rounded boulder to lean back against. His chest heaved in anticipation. In an attempt to appear cool, he said suavely, "Hey, cutie, I've never seen you around here. You come here often?"

"Whenever I have band."

"Do you have anywhere to go?"

"No. My mother hasn't picked me up yet, and I'll be damned if I wait another five hours for her to show."

"Well, I have a boat that's nice and roomy. You wanna ride with me?"

"That's - very generous of you."

"It's no problem." Squidward pulled him by his hips to lean against the rock - an uncannily chair-shaped rock. He slid his hands under the cloth of Squilliam's band uniform, massaging as he drew his mouth closer to his cock, salivating over him. He wondered for a moment why Squillie had abruptly changed his mind, his lips trembling as he approached. He quickly discarded the thought and curled his lips around his teeth.

"Ooh, you get down to business, don't you?" He quickly hardened as his blond associate moved swiftly on him, massaging his ass. _'He's getting me off so fast...sucking my dick like a little whore...moaning sensually...'_ His blond lover moved a tentacle from the back of his thigh to tickle his balls, eliciting arpeggiated gasps from him as he drove his hips into his face.

Squidward nearly gagged, taking the moment Squilliam backed up before thrusting again to open up wider to accommodate him. _'Squillie just might forget about the clarinet, after all,'_ he thought, taking his cock deeper in his mouth, up his throat. _'Oh, Neptune, I hope he likes me as much as his other lovers.'_ He slowed the pace of his licking, his suction cups learning the texture of Squilliam's ass cheeks and sliding his hand inside. He caressed Squilliam's wrist with his free hand.

He panted heavily, "Oh yea...ah, I'm going to cum."

Squidward steadily painted the throbbing head of his cock with saliva and open-ended kisses, casually but enthusiastically received his semen.

Squilliam blinked, took the time to stare at Squidward. Still wearing his band uniform, he sat kneeling, straddled across Squilliam's legs. His disheveled hair - blond, dirty, and shiny - masked his widely naïve eyes and a deceptively innocent cum-stained smile. He cuddled Squidward in his arms, kissing him deeply, passionately, repeatedly, as they slid to the ground. "You're not a whore," he said, swallowing the jizz he'd mined from Squidward's mouth. Squilliam hated himself for how much he loved to see those cheeks sweaty, flushed, and begging for more contact.

"Oh...thanks." He kissed Squilliam's nose.

"I'll finish you up here, baby." He smeared some saliva onto his tentacle and began to stroke Squidward's dick. "Mmm. Your cock is magnificent, Squiddy. I should have written an ode to your huge, hot sex meat."

"That's...mm...your dirty talk? You get - ah, ah, a lot of requests to shut up, right?"

"Just shut up and cum. And yes."

"Stick to the oh-oh...odes." Squidward flipped his head back, limp in the aftermath of orgasm as he radiated plethora of colors in the sunlit shade.

They kissed, their mouths sideways, tips of tongues in scarce but urgent contact. "Delicious," he said, a wistful gleam in his eye. "Absolutely...you."

Squidward glanced at his watch. "We need to hurry, or we're gonna be late for the talent show."

"What's the rush? Wouldn't you rather stay here?" Squilliam asked, an enticing glow in his eye.

"Are you kidding? I spent all month rehearsing this routine."

He closed his hand over Squidward's, reaching to run his tentacle through his hair and down the back of his neck. His hair looked so clean, the sweat soaking between the strands failing to detract from that impression. Squilliam played with his hair, silently relishing the translucence of the moist, grimy film accumulating on his tentacle.

Squidward braced his arms against the sand to lift himself. Squilliam sat on his hand, earning him a look of bewildered irritation. "Squillie...what are you doing?"

"Why do you always have to be on time?" he asked in a defensive, accusatory tone.

"Maybe because I don't have a fortune I can pull out of my ass, I actually _have_ to be on time."

"Squiddy, please..." He wrapped his legs around Squidward's waist, stroking his hips affectionately. Squidward leaned back into his touch while half-heartedly pushing him away. He smiled contentedly, sprawling against the back of a log as Squilliam guided him downward, clutching at the tassels, burying his face into his chest. Sand and dirt billowed up from the ground, soiling their uniforms and their quiet contact. For someone so poor, his face was remarkably unblemished. His whole body was remarkably unblemished. "...you're so beautiful," he finished the sentence unthinkingly and in a fragile, uncertain syllable.

"Oh...thanks." Self-conscious smile transformed into cocky confidence.

Infatuated blush giving way to a quivering smile, he said in exhalation, "You're right! Which way is camp again?"

"That way," he said, pointing to the trail they took to get there. Squilliam ran off as Squidward stood, bending over to pick up his clarinet. "Um, Squillie?" He paused to look back. "Your clarinet?" He held up the fancy royal purple monogrammed velvet case, then sullied by dirt, saliva, and cum, and jiggled it in his hand.

"But of course," said Squilliam, feigning confidence as he lithely retrieved his clarinet. "What are you hanging back there for, silly? Come!"

He ran to catch up and maintain a similar stride. "It really is beautiful out here. I guess I am glad Mr. Shores took us out here instead of some college dorms or something boring like that."

"I know, isn't it great getting our parents to pay for us to go into the woods and make music together?"

He chuckled, extended his hand as if to hold Squilliam's, but retracted it. "Yeah. It's great."

"Well?" he asked, firmly pressing for an answer to an unheard question.

"Huh? Oh...uh, yeah, sounds great."

"I'm glad you think so. I thought it sounded a little faggy, even for me."

"By all means, fag it up, honey." _'Oh no, I'm blushing...I need a distraction. Look at his feet.'_ He looked down at Squilliam's feet. As he did, he fantasized that Squilliam wrapped his feet around his face and poked his feet into his ass. _'Bad idea.' _He tried to shake the thoughts away and look into his eyes. "Um, Squilliam?"

"Yes, Squiddy?"

"Mmpth!" He fell face forward over a rock. When he got up, he asked, "So what made you change your mind?"

"Hm?"

"About letting me suck your dick."

"Oh, that. I just felt so awful about what I did to you earlier, I wanted to make it up to you."

"You're the only guy I know who apologizes with blowjobs."

"About that." He took Squidward's hands in his, suction cups clasping briefly. "As far as I'm concerned, we've never had sex."

Laughing nervously, he said, "Oh, I get it. You're one of those people who doesn't count oral sex as sex."

"No, Squiddy. I'm one of those people who wants to forget we ever did this."

He stroked Squilliam's wrist. "I wasn't good enough for you?"

"No, no, that isn't it. I loved you."

He furrowed his brows. "So, what, are you ashamed of me?"

"No, Squiddy, that isn't it at -"

"Heaven forbid that you mix with the lower classes! What would people think?"

"That isn't it at all!" He caressed the outsides of Squidward's hands. "It hardly thrills my parents you're poor, but I don't give a swimming fuck what they think."

"Then why?" He let out a gasp of panic. "Is it because you think I'm a lesser clarinet player?"

"That has nothing to do with it."

"Then why do you want to forget I sucked you -"

"_You_ didn't. My mysterious blond lover did."

"So you weren't just roleplaying. What the hell is wrong with you?" He yanked his arms away.

"Nothing, dear. But we're such good friends - don't you agree?"

"Yeah."

"And we're obviously compatible lovers. I don't want to get involved like that."

"Did you ever take logic? Because I think you failed. Spectacularly."

"What do you mean by that, Squiddy dear?"

"If our friendship is good, and the sex is good, then why won't you get involved?"

"I just can't, all right?" Squilliam's voice became harsh. "We can still get together...just be my mysterious blond lover." He tugged on Squidward's arm to stop him and kissed his shoulder.

"And you joke about me seeing a therapist." He kept his eyes fixed on the ground as he trialed his responses. "No. Sorry, but whether we're in a relationship or not, I can't make love to you when you won't even acknowledge that we screwed."

They approached the rear entrance of the rec hall. "I understand." As they walked closer to the door, where a lamp hung on the exterior offered diffuse illumination against the twilight sky, Squilliam closed his hands around Squidward's wrists, pulling him near to kiss him. "Thank you, darling, for a wonderful...time together."

As Squilliam walked inside, Squidward said, "We'll always be more than friends."

He said without looking back, "I know that, Squiddy." He paused in his step, holding the door open. "I know that."

Squidward followed him inside the changing room, picking up his leotard and sweatbands. As he undressed, he scrutinized Squilliam's unmoving form and said, "Why aren't you getting changed?"

"I'm waiting until you finish your act, Squidsy."

"Why do you even bother calling me cute pet names? It won't get you back in my pants."

"It suits you." He leaned back to watch Squidward stretch himself into his leotard.

He paused, the top half of the garment hanging loose over his torso, the shoulder straps held taut in his hands. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're cute. It's even adorable how hard you try to hide it."

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Of course you aren't. But you try so hard, and you suck so badly at it, I can't help but love you that much more for it."

"Would you _please_ stop flirting with me? You've made it clear you don't want to date -"

"Well..."

"- you won't fuck me unless I pretend I'm someone else, so why do you keep flirting with me?"

Squilliam simply smiled, pulled the leotard straps over his shoulders to complete his costume, and kissed him. "You're on, Squidsy," he whispered into his cheek, patting his back as he nervously pranced onstage.

The music started, a vivacious romantic rondo. He moved to the beat, the audience quieting to watch him express himself confidently and passionately through interpretive dance.

When the piece concluded, his band mates cheered for him, lauding his performance with such comments as, "I wish I could dance like that," and "He's so artistic!" As he left the stage to join his peers in the front row of the audience, he overheard Jeffery saying, "This is why people call us band fags, you know."

Squidward never understood why people connected his artistic sensibilities to his sexuality. Especially when those people were similarly artistic themselves. They were probably just jealous.

"Thank you, Mr. Tentacles, for that wonderful performance. Next, Mr. Fancyson will perform the musical number _Don't Tell Daddy,_ from a renowned staple of musical theatre."

After an interlude of shifting furniture behind the makeshift curtain of bed sheets followed by stubbed toes and hushed apologies, the curtain rose again to reveal Squilliam dressed in a tight, lacy French maid outfit, sitting on cheap upholstered kitchen furniture borrowed from the cafeteria. He also wore an alluring smile, as if to cue the music to start.

"Daddy," he said, "thinks I'm paying my way through college. A secluded little college known as 'snooty Sunshine Glen.'" He blew a trifle of hair out of his eyes. "Daddy - doesn't even have an inkling that I'm working in a gay bar arousing hot young men." Shooting the audience a look of repressed stimulation, Squilliam fondled the tabletop with three of his legs.

He proceeded to sing of his character's concealed occupation, flashing glimpses of his legs as he strutted back and forth across the stage. The audience, male and female alike, gazed in awe as he wiggled his tentacles at them in a shamelessly tantalizing fashion.

Squidward stared in special fascination. "_Don't tell daddy what you know_." Squilliam's voice almost seemed to beckon him to join him onstage. Instead, much like his other male peers, he sat uncomfortably in his seat, trying to suppress the rise his rival was getting out of him, the task growing increasingly difficult as his dance moves grew increasingly raunchy. The song finished, prompting Squilliam to stand still and elegantly bow forward (to whistles and "hubba-hubbas"), only to rapidly spin around to show off to everyone the lack of a back to his maid's outfit and shake his exposed ass in Squidward's face.

Squidward fainted out of his seat. But in all fairness, so did the guy sitting next to him. Squilliam leapt offstage to assist Squidward on his way back to consciousness.

"What happened?" he asked groggily.

Rachel said matter-of-factly, "You passed out from the overload of sexy."

"You know what they say - save the best act for last," Squilliam said, helping him up to the bench. "Are you sure you can sit up?"

He nodded firmly, eyes strictly avoiding that laced up and sweaty torso.

"Good then. I'll stay here until you're ready to go to dinner." He clutched Squidward's hand.

"Thanks," he said half-ironically. Squilliam crossed his legs, tickling his thigh with his feet. "You'll never give up, will you?"

"No. Never."

He held Squilliam's hand tighter before letting go. "Let's eat." He stood, testing his balance.

"What about poor Jeffery lying on the floor here? I think he needs a little of the 'fancy touch' to revive him."

"Uh yeah, that's the last thing you need to do. Let Mr. Shores handle it."

"He really looks like he could use some fancy loving, though."

"Just go!" Squidward snapped.

"All right!" They walked out of the rec room together as Mr. Shores attended to Jeffery.

"Why do you tease me like that?" Squidward moaned, stirring his pasta in the flickering, piss-yellow lighting of the cafeteria.

"Can't talk yet, doll; I'm still getting my dinner."

"I can wait."

Squilliam, still wearing the backless maid dress, sat energetically at their table beside Squidward. "I tease you because you make it so much fun. Now let me have some of that pasta," he said, taking a forkful off Squidward's tray and depositing it into his mouth.

"You have the same food on your own tray. And I thought you hated this stuff."

"I know...and I do. But peasant food is so much more fun coming from you, Squiddy darling."

He mumbled under his breath. Squilliam turned sharply on him.

"Excuse me?"

"It's nothing." Squidward ate another bite.

"No, you said something, now why don't you say it to my face, Sizzle-Lips?"

"It's because of you that people call us band fags, you know."

Squilliam seemed genuinely hurt before taking a moment to twist his lips into a grin. "No, Squiddy, it's because of people like _us_. And you're wrong anyway. It wouldn't matter if we liked chicks instead of dicks; they'd find another way to get at us. We're different, you and me. We're...artistic." He pouted his lower lip against Squidward's neck.

Squidward slammed his food tray down against the table. "I don't want this! You'll fuck any guy who gives you the green light, you beg me for sex, but won't do it because I want a relationship. I finally say, 'Why not?' and try to get a little casual nookie in your room, and you tell me no. Then, when I finally suck you off, you deny it ever happened. Make up your fucking mind, sweetums, or I'm giving up on you."

He stood and put a hand on his hip in a markedly off-center indignant pose. "Oh, so you can call me 'sweetums,' but I can't call you Squiddums?"

"You are so full of it."

"Squidward, I..." he sat down again, "...you terrify me sometimes." He stared at his portion of the bland cafeteria fare, giving the mush a listless poke of the fork tines.

"Pssht. Don't dick around with me, Squilliam."

"No, really. Every day I'm scared you'll tell me you won't put up with my shit anymore, that you don't want me around. Then I'd just have Maxi. And no, I don't mean that the way it sounds, you perv."

"Liar. You don't mean a word of that."

"I mean it. I know it sounds like a silly cliché, but I don't want to lose you."

"And I don't want to play games for someone who doesn't even want to win."

Squilliam lifted his skirt up seductively, letting the lace trail over his thighs. "Squiddy, I want - I want you with me, tonight. Meaning I want to fuck you up your tight little ass until you cum."

Squidward gulped, his face flushing while his eyes stayed fixed on Squilliam's thighs. "Promise that you want to fuck Squiddy, not some mysterious blond."

"Yes, I want _you_ with me." He shivered, his thighs rustling the lace. There were some disadvantages to wearing scanty costumes. "Please say yes."

"Yes, Squillie," he said, hugging him slowly, perching his head on his shoulder. Squidward took the narrow shoulder strap in his teeth, licked the skin below it, and pulled it down to hang loose at his side.

He shuddered. "Ooh! Save some of that for tonight, hm?"

"Oh! Sure," he said, rubbing Squilliam's shoulder and backing away.

He stared into Squidward's eyes, watching him eagerly tuck each morsel into his mouth. _'Tonight, I will make you feel better than anyone has ever made you feel before.'_ Biting his lower lip, he said, "Do you want to -"

"Let's go." He grasped Squilliam's hand, and they made a furtive exit.

They kicked their cabin door open, Squidward slipping his hands through the sides of Squilliam's dress, grasping his hips and massaging him above his cock. Squilliam held onto Squidward's shoulder, entangling his tentacle in the thick of his hair as he kissed deeply, indulgingly, while he flicked the light switch on with the back of one of his feet.

Squilliam pulled at the leotard, dragging it tight against his skin and kicking it loose at their ankles. "What do you say, Squiddy? You want me to keep this on...or off?" He rolled his shoulder, the loose strap of his dress dangling at his side.

"Leave it on."

"Whatever you say." He squeezed below his ass, stepping on the crumpled leotard, leading Squidward forward out of the garment and laying him on his bed. "Mm. That ass is too irresistible to ignore. I just have to get a piece of it." He gripped a cheek greedily. "I'm going to fuck you until you fall through the mattress." Squidward gasped. "What's wrong?"

"I just need to -"

"Relax, baby. Relax and let me ravish you." That voice alone was sufficiently soothing to wash his anxiety away.

Squilliam reached across the mattress to unzip his suitcase pouch, shuffling through the contents until he had retrieved a bottle of lubricant. He crawled onto the bed beside him, lube in his teeth. "I want to take your pretty virgin flesh," he said, taking the lube into his hand, "screw you until you die a little," he licked from Squidward's navel up to his nipples, "and fuck you until you feel it in your chest." He sucked on Squidward's neck, a lubricated tentacle tentatively swirling around the entrance of his ass.

Squidward held his breath.

He trailed his lips lightly over his shoulder. "Tell me how much you want me, my pretty band fag."

"No," he said softly, clenching his body.

"What's wrong? Should I stop?" He looked at Squidward's tightly shut eyes and cautiously felt his nose. "You always liked to talk dirty in our chats about having sex."

"You might as well stop." He turned away, burying his head in the pillow. "And that was a long time ago."

Squilliam touched his shoulder. "Something _is_ wrong."

"So something's wrong. And?"

"And I want to know what it is."

Squidward sat up, staring widely into his eyes in an obvious attempt to dissuade tears. "Yeah, right! You'll just make jokes, or look at me like a pathetic child."

"Squiddy," he said, holding him in his arms, stroking his sides, "do you honestly believe I would act like that? Because if that's what you think, I'm glad you stopped me when you did."

"What difference does it make to you? You just want an orgasm."

"Well, you're wrong. You're different from my other lovers. You're my best friend." He kissed Squidward's nose, inhaling the precious nasal laughter that precipitated.

"I don't think you'd really make fun of me. It's just - I don't know how to start. Have you ever...have you ever had something taken away so cruelly, so senselessly, that you wonder why you ever had it in the first place...?"

Squilliam suppressed a twitch of his eyelid. "Have...you, darling?" he said, his voice unusually shaky and breathy.

He leaned forward, hands gripping his chin as Squilliam settled into the sheets and pillows, stroking the small of his back. "You know, that time I was out sick, in the hospital..."

"Oh, yes. That was just before I made you orgasm in band."

"Right. Remember how I was still light-headed, and I dropped my clarinet and didn't want to play?"

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Squiddy dear, you'd just come back from the hospital. And medication side effects don't qualify as not wanting to play."

"No. The reason I went to the hospital - well, at first it was for a physical emergency, but they took care of that. But after that...I was so terrified, Squillie...I couldn't even _look_ at a clarinet without panicking."

"So wait, don't tell me, they locked you up in the loony bin for a clarinet phobia?"

"No! I mean..." Squidward closed his eyes and leaned against Squilliam's chest, their hearts pressed together and beating asynchronously. "T-they...raped me, Squillie. They pushed me down, and - and they shoved my clarinet up my ass."

"Oh Squidward, I'm so sorry. My poor baby, I understand what you're going through."

"How can you know?" He pushed Squilliam aside. "How the hell could you know? What, your beloved family snail died before your virgin eyes? You once took a family trip to a psych ward to see the suffering veterans? Or one of your father's corporate sensitivity seminars told you everything you needed to know when your male lover gets raped that you were too afraid to ask!"

Squilliam sniffled. "No."

"You've never had anything this bad happen! You hire servants and a limo and a chauffeur and if anything else goes wrong, you can bribe your way out of that, too. Well, guess what, honey? One day you're going to wake up, and you won't see your big fancy lifestyle cruise, but real life, Fancyboy! _Real fucking life_, and it's going to crush you, and all your dreams, too."

"You're right, Squiddy. I should be more sensitive."

The door burst open to Harry running inside. "Did you do him yet?"

Squilliam gritted his teeth. "Do you mind? We're having a moment."

"And here I thought I was at band camp. I'll clear out, but I can only guarantee you guys an hour before lights out." The door swung shut.

"He's good fish folk." He turned back to Squidward. "Oh, I'm such an ass! You know I was only joking, when I pretended to fuck you with my clarinet this morning, right? I mean, I did want to fuck you, but not with my clarinet! I meant a certain other instrument that's long and hard for you." He stroked Squidward's back, gripping his knee.

He reached his tentacles out to embrace Squilliam's. "That's - that's all right, Squillie, you didn't know."

"So...do you want to talk about it?" He nuzzled his forehead against Squidward's.

"I don't know what I'd say..." He tightened his grip of his clarinet, fiddled with the lace of Squilliam's dress, and released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "When I realized I couldn't hold a clarinet, much less play one, I didn't know how I could live. When my answer to the doctor's question, 'How are you feeling today?' became 'Ready to jump off a cliff,' they transferred me to the psych ward.

"Sure they talked to me, gave me medication, but I still couldn't always play. I felt like someone had stepped on my gut and wouldn't get off, instead saying, 'Nope, still have to ruin the one good thing left in your life.' Because, you know, the reason they did this, they saw me kissing you. They knew I loved every second of it." Squidward wrapped his tentacles around Squilliam's, locking suction cups.

"Do you know who did it, sweetheart?"

"Mm-hm."

"Good, then they went off to jail, right? But I never heard about that, and you'd think...oh Squidward." Squidward sniffed back a tear, ashamed. "Oh, _Squidward._ How could you let them get away with that?" Squilliam said, spitting with a sneer. He grabbed Squidward's shoulders insistently. "Why didn't you report the bastards who did this to you?" Squidward could only snivel, his lips trembling. "Well? Why the hell not, Squiddy?"

"Because they said they'd hurt you twice as badly."

Squilliam's expression softened, his grip on Squidward's shoulders loosening. "You should have reported them. The police would've taken care of it. You don't need to worry about me."

"You know damn well the police don't always 'take care of everything.' Especially for someone like me. What if they'd raped you too, or worse -"

"But the police would've taken care of me."

Squidward nodded.

"The important thing is that...that..." Squilliam brushed his hand against Squidward's chin and kissed him long and hard, their nostrils pulsating in a struggle for breath, each unwilling to part to inhale the sweet ocean oxygen, each much preferring the salty taste of horny cephalopod. Finally, their breathing exercises were paying off. When they broke the kiss for a breath, Squidward started to sob. They fell back against the bed together, Squilliam taking Squidward in a gentle embrace.

"So what's the important thing you wanted to tell me?" Squidward asked, nose muffled against his shoulder.

"The most important thing for you to remember is to never let _anyone_ make you give up on yourself. Is that clear, Squiddy?" As Squidward held his clarinet between the two of them, they kissed again, Squilliam wiping away Squidward's tears and holding his cheeks. "I won't let anyone hurt you," Squilliam said, squeezing Squidward's back and eliciting a moan from him. "I'll do whatever you want. We don't have to -"

"I want to."

"I could suck you off instead."

"Squillie, I want this." Squidward stroked the back of Squilliam's head, running his tentacle through his short black hair and kissing his nose. They rubbed heads together, intertwining two tentacles and locking suction cups. In between kisses, Squidward said, "Oh, Neptune, you're gorgeous, Squillie."

Squilliam closed his lips over Squidward's and slipped away from him to say, "You're so beautiful, Squiddy," before pushing his mouth against Squidward's again and feeling for his tongue. He grabbed Squidward by the shoulders and hoisted him on top of himself, taking care to avoid banging up the clarinet that lay neglected on the bed. Squidward kissed his neck, softly but with teasing nibbles. Squilliam lifted his skirt with two of his legs, hands free to play at his nipples in slow, gyrating motions. "Ready?" Squidward licked his lips in desire. As he moved from manipulating his skirt to fingering Squidward gently, Squilliam grew uneasy. "Are you sure you want this?"

"Squilliam! I know you're not my fucking rapist."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, please, Squillie, don't -"

"Because I'll bottom for you if you'd like."

"Uh, what?" This caught him off guard. One thing Squidward had learned in his year roaming among the band geeks and listening in concealed fascination as his classmates discussed the sex life of his crush, was that Squilliam would never, ever take it in the ass. Anyone who proposed it to him got laughed at, as if they'd just asked him to date their lovely sister. He looked into Squilliam's eyes and said, "Excuse me?"

"I'll bottom for you, if it'll make you more comfortable."

"Oh..."

"Well?"

"Oh! Actually, that does sound pretty good to me."

"Well then, please, fuck me, like we're two lonely geeks who met in band class looking for a little companionship," Squilliam said, handing him a bottle of lube and changing positions, his stomach on the sheets and his feet swaying back and forth as he pouted his lips.

"But Squilliam, that's exactly what we are."

Squilliam giggled dreamily. "I know. Now, please, be gentle. I need a lover's touch." He shifted to his side, letting Squidward curl an arm around his chest.

"Of course," he said, applying the lubrication. As he suctioned Squilliam's ass, applying the lube, he noted how sensitive and reactive Squilliam was to every slightest touch, making little squealing sounds and gasping subtly yet rapidly. "How is it...going? So far." Squidward slapped himself mentally for how foolish and naïve he sounded. But he couldn't let himself ruin their first night together by making some novice error. What an awful way to repay the guy who let him love band class and relish in the resplendent beauty of music again.

Squilliam chuckled, "Just - mm...fine, Squiddy. Keep going, love. You're - ah! That's goood...keep doing that... you're doing great."

He caressed Squilliam's ankles with his feet. "Just let me know when you're ready."

"Okay, go."

Squidward hesitated a moment, unsure whether Squilliam truly wanted him to penetrate at that moment, or whether he'd just said that because he thought Squidward wanted to. Confused, yet determined, he went ahead. And rocked Squilliam's world. Whooshes of bubbles rose against their skin with each thrust, their sweat slipping together and diminishing their friction as their pleasure intensified.

Squilliam arched back into Squidward's panting breaths. "Mmph..Squiddy? You make...uuh-I luu-"

"Huh?"

"You're - ah...ouh. Ahh, amazing."

It took Squidward awhile to figure out what Squilliam was going on about, but once he did, he grinned and licked at Squilliam's neck. "You're in...credible, Squillie." He gradually increased the tempo, each of his tentacles embracing him, rubbing his cock at a rapid pace. As Squidward came, he moaned and kicked back, drawing Squilliam's legs in as well, then clutched the rough sheets, his skin flashing iridescent.

He chuckled and sighed, his leg folding over the back of Squilliam's knee. Squidward's stroking became more measured, teasing almost, before accelerating to crescendo. He kissed his cheek, his long, blond hair kissing Squilliam's shoulder and back as he did. Squilliam brushed his tentacles repeatedly against Squidward's, tightening and curling around his feet, only to relax and prod them again.

He came in Squidward's hand, hips jolting forward as he eased back against the mattress. His face shuddered in waves of deep purple and blue. Through heavy breaths, he said, "Squiddy," _pant, pant,_ "that...was incredible."

Squidward winked, licking the corner of his mouth before gorging himself on ejaculate. "Oh," he looked down at his dick and bit his lip. "You're bleeding. I'm so sorry, are you ok-"

"It's all right," he said, cutting him off. "It's just a little. You more than made up for it with your outstanding performance."

"Quit it; I know you're flattering me."

"No...really. Most guys...they just want to get in, get their pleasure, and get out again. I should know; I'm one of them. But you...you're so good. It's like we've done this already. You _know_ me. Everything that nobody else can see, you see it right away."

"Wow. That's actually kind of profound. Squillie, tonight was the best night of my life."

"Even better than the day you met me?" He asked, batting his eyes sweetly.

"Let's see - I didn't get laid the day I met you."

Squilliam rested his head against a pillow as they disentangled each other, draping a leg loosely around Squidward as he pulled a blanket over them. "That is true. Thank you, Squidward. I can say with confidence that you're the best lover I've ever had." Squilliam yawned. Not the best, really. But definitely the most compatible. He had the potential to be the best.

"Oh, thanks," he said, blushing. Squidward closed his eyes as he rushed his admission out, "I think I love you," but his tongue lingering on each syllable of the name: "Squilliam Fancyson." After a brief interval without a response, Squidward opened an eye to peer over at his lover. Squilliam had fallen asleep.


	8. Appassionato

**Summer Nights at Band Camp**

_by Hg Muffin-Stuff_

Summary: They were rivals. They were companions. They were everything but in love. One summer night at band camp would change that, though. Or so they hoped.

**Chapter 8: Appassionato**

Squilliam awoke the next morning to Squidward kissing him brightly and sweetly on the lips, saying, "Good morning, Squillie." He blinked his eyes open, watching as Squidward poured hot water from a kettle over a tea bag sitting inside his thermos. On his side of the bed, the sheets were ruffled and scattered, while on Squidward's side, the sheets were hardly wrinkled and supported Squilliam's neatly folded band uniform, each article of clothing in its proper position. "I made you a cup of your favorite tea. Earl Grey, right?"

"Oh - you didn't have to do that for me," he said, taking the thermos in his hand. He looked at the steaming beverage as the bottom of the container acquired a golden red tinge. Dry bits of inferior quality tealeaves, packaged and papered for his morning mediocrity. Squiddy really hadn't needed to do that to him.

He pulled another bag of tea out of his pocket and put it in his own thermos, pouring the water over until it was fully submerged.

Squilliam sniffed. "What is that, Peppermint?"

"Yeah, we get it at the health food store. I drink it all the time. You want to try it?"

"That's – not necessary. But thank you."

He handed Squilliam a silver tray. "I prepared some of that Fancy Deluxe Trail Mix you brought. So we can snack on something before breakfast."

Scrunching up his unibrow in a nervous tension, he said, "You realize we're not dating, right Squiddy?" Squidward didn't answer, just turned his head away to prevent Squilliam from seeing the rouge tint his cheeks were rapidly acquiring. "This is strictly a physical affair. You know that, doncha Squiddy dear?"

_'Oh, no. Tears. Squidward, don't do this. Not now.'_ He blinked a few times until a tear emerged and dripped down his cheek. "You bastard. I thought you loved me differently."

He set the tray on the bed, standing to meet Squidward's gaze. "I'm sorry, Squiddy, really. But I just want to have fun with you. Please don't hate me."

"How can I not? You tell me so many things; I don't know what to think. Why don't you just leave? Leave me for good."

"Squidward," he said, glancing coyly as he slid chin against shoulder and curls of blonde. "I could never do that. I don't know, maybe a part of me does love you...like that."

"Shut it, Squilliam, just - shut up," he sputtered out, leaning into his bare shoulder.

"Okay, Squidward." He gently grasped his shoulders and pulled back, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"Call me Squiddy."

"Okay, Squiddy. I'll shut up." Squilliam stepped away, flipping Squidward's hair back as he retreated to his bunk. They sat in their cots opposite each other, Squilliam reading an interior design magazine while Squidward read an interpretive dance magazine. They each sipped some tea. Every few minutes, they either took a sip or turned a page, shooting glances the other way every so often until eventually their eyes fixed on one another.

"Whatcha reading about?" Squidward asked Squilliam.

"Eclectic decorating styles that incorporate Victorian and Romantic elements."

"Oh," Squidward said, returning to his article.

Squilliam, still staring at him, asked, "How about you?"

"I'm reading about this dancer who's performing at Clownfishey Hall in New Kelp City."

"Oh," Squilliam said, shrugging in an attempt to affect indifference. After a few more minutes and several sips of tea and several stolen glances of each other's faces, Squilliam lowered his magazine to say, "Mind if I -"

Cut off by Squidward saying, "Can I take a look at that?" Squilliam slid off his bed, approached Squidward, and traded magazines, his eyes eagerly soaking up the words printed on the page as he stood there and Squidward did likewise. Noticing that Squilliam still stood by the bed, Squidward cleared his throat and said, "Um, Squilliam? You want to sit down or something?"

Wordlessly, Squilliam crawled into bed next to Squidward, his eyes still fixed on the glossy pages of his magazine as he pulled the sheets over his body and up to his shoulders, meticulously adjusting the pillows and sheets to better serve his comfort. Squidward glanced his way, torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to ask him what the hell he thought he was trying to pull. He refrained from either action, though, afraid that either would immediately provoke him to back away again. As Squilliam pressed his shoulder against Squidward's and resumed reading after shooting him a quick smile, Squidward relaxed, realizing he was there to stay.

Squilliam firmly gripped Squidward's hand in his and kissed his lips with a vibrant shake of the wrist as he drew Squidward's tentacle to his hip. "Love ya, Squiddy." Squidward let his magazine droop. "What? Don't look so surprised. A cephalopod can change his mind, can't he?" They lay together kissing until they could no longer put off getting ready.

"Shit," Squidward said as he left Squilliam's mouth, a trembling hand pressing against the back of his neck as he kissed below his jaw twice more. "I forgot to take my meds last night." He took two pills from separate bottles in hand and swallowed them dry.

Squilliam tugged his limbs and abdomen out of the sweat-sticky dress while Squidward dug into his backpack, searching. "If you're looking for your breath mints, I've already snagged some." He wiggled a couple mints in the palm of his tentacle.

"No, I'm...here it is," he said, pulling out a silver and blue ring. "It's a mood ring. It changes color and shows you what you're feeling. Not really, but that's the idea. I have one, too."

"Aw, isn't that cute. You're trendy." For some reason, when Squilliam said, "trendy," it sounded less like "fashionable" and more like "fashion-slave."

"And now you get to be as trendy as I am," he said, slipping the ring onto Squilliam's tentacle. He grabbed his clarinet and headed for the door. "Let's blow."

They sprinted to the group, getting in place and lifting their clarinets to their mouths, their hair ruffled and dripping in sweat. Squilliam lifted two of his legs behind Squidward's, tickling and stroking his protruding suction cups before sliding up the backs of his legs, squeezing the flesh of his inner thighs.

"Squillie, not now." Squidward tried to dissuade him by fidgeting and squirming out of his reach.

"Aw, please? You made me so hot back there. Just one quick duo?"

"Make it a solo; I don't know about you, but I've got to practice."

"I'm sure you do."

"Don't act like you don't need to practice. You aren't _that_ good." Squidward winked, raising his brow suggestively.

"I'm too horny though...and maybe you're right, so we should, um, go practice together?"

"Oh, get a grip on yourself."

He instead maintained a grip on Squidward's ass. "I love it when you turn red like that."

"Look everyone," Harry shouted, "it's the morning woodwinds!"

"Harry!" Squidward said through gritted teeth and a scowl, his blush deepening as his mind tried to persuade his cock that it was indeed worth it to fight off Squilliam's advances. "I don't - this isn't what it - I don't have -"

"The most obvious boner I've ever seen in my life," Squilliam said offhandedly. "That's cute, the way you're trying to use your clarinet to hide it. No points for originality, though, sorry."

Squidward gave up trying to conceal his arousal, instead attempting to divert his attention from the source of it. On days like this he wondered what god, the universe, and everything seemed to have against him. He wasn't the only clarinet pitching a tent that morning, after all. That provided him little comfort, of course, considering that Squilliam continued to play flawlessly, while he floundered on even simple passages.

As they wrapped up their morning practice, Mr. Shores handed Squilliam a piece of paper. "This telegram came in for you this morning."

"Thank you, Mr. Shores," he said, unfolding the slip of paper as he and Squidward walked to the cafeteria for lunch.

"What does it say?" he asked as Squilliam finished reading it.

"Oh – nothing," he glanced to his feet, crumpling up the telegram. "Just...stupid rich people stuff," he shrugged. "Nothing you'd wanna hear."

"Are your parents sending you stock updates? I don't know whether that'd be mortifying or fabulous."

"...Something like that, yes." Squilliam opened the door to the cafeteria.

"Could you invest in, uh, a dildo factory or something?"  
"And you call _me_ juvenile." He inspected the food beneath the glass before turning to the cafeteria worker. "Sweetie, just give me the least disgusting slop you have. There's money in it for you if you give us something actually edible."

As they approached their table with their food, Squidward said, and it had to be during one of those awkward moments when everyone gets quiet at once, "And there's nothing wrong with dildos."

Everyone erupted in laughter, someone choking on her food. "Excellent timing, Squiddy. That's the one thing you really don't need to practice."

"I really don't," he said, taking a drink of sea cow's milk. "So, how's Maxi doing?"

"Son of a bitch! Is it really too much to ask for some decent coral?" He spat out the food he was chewing. "Maxi's doing fine."

"How's his band?"

"Popular, as ever."

"Did he get his license back yet?"

"In two months. Why, did you want to go somewhere with him?"

"No, I just wanted to know."

"Then you can quit nosing into other people's business and shut up about it."

"Okay, sheesh." He took a bite and said, "It makes sense I'd ask how he is, with all the times he's fallen flat on his face drunk."

"I need to use the facilities. Excuse me," he said, standing and walking to the restrooms.

Squidward had finished his lunch for fifteen minutes already when Jeffery approached him, asking, "What's bothering Squilliam?"

"What makes you think something's bothering him?"

"He was just sobbing in the bathroom."

"Do you think I should check up on him?"

"What do I look like to you, the gay Dr. Phish?" he said, walking off to meet up with his actual friends.

He started to get up, only to see Squilliam sashaying to their table, his eyes bright as ever with the confidence of influential living.

"Your food is cold."

"I'm not eating that crap. Why should I give a damn if it's cold or hot?"

"You should eat something."

"Tell me everything you're looking forward to next year."

"Band, of course. Then there's the big march coming up. Some of the new plays and art exhibits coming up sound really exciting, too. Oh! I need to run my slogans by Lori; we have to make signs up soon."

"You really believe you're making a difference?"

"Of course. It's the only tool we little people have to jam up the machine."

"What's this protest about? Marijuana?"

"No, no – this is about the right to marry."

"You want to get married? I'll show you how to make a real change. Tell me who the lawmakers are. We'll work something out."

"What makes you so sure you can? The grassroots organization I'm a part of hasn't made any headway."

"Simple. I speak their language."

"I never knew you were interested in politics."

"Not politics, my dear – money."

Squidward's gleeful smile drooped into a frown. "What I'm not looking forward to this year is seeing less of you."

He said, "Oh, you'll see even more of me than you've seen before, darling."

"But I've already seen all of you."

"But lots of guys have seen all of me. I want you to see more."

"That's impossible."

"You lack nuance, Squiddy." He picked up his tray. "Excuse me," he said, taking his lunch on a trip to the trashcan, stopping when Mr. Shores approached him. As they talked, Squilliam looked back at Squidward, forcing a smile before turning his head back quickly to face Mr. Shores. "Can I take a break from band practice? I need to go lie down." He rubbed his forehead listlessly.

"I can't let you stay in your cabin alone, but you can go speak to a counselor."

"I don't _want_ to speak to a fucking counselor."

"I'm sorry; my hands are tied here."

"Yeah, well I'm going anyway," he said loudly as he marched out of the cafeteria.

That night, Squidward had been asleep for an hour when Squilliam threw himself under the blanket, his body springing up from the mattress and tumbling against Squidward, awakening him partially.

"Sorry."

"It's okay...thank you, thank you."

"Hm?"

"...an encore...of course I'll..."

"Aw. You're dreaming you're a professional clarinetist." He pinched Squidward's cheek, prompting his eyes to shoot open.

"Wuh...What are you doing here?" He sat up abruptly.

"That's a ridiculous question. I'm here to sleep. Have a problem with that?"

He plopped his head back on the pillow. "Good night, Squillie."

"...Good night, Squiddy." When he was sure Squidward was asleep again, Squilliam wrapped his arms around his torso, his head curled between Squidward's chest and the crook of his arm.

"Everything's um...okay with you, right?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" he said immediately, taken aback that he was still alert after all.

"You just seemed a little...I mean, why didn't you go to practice this afternoon?"

"Do you need to know every little detail of my life?"

"Never mind." He chuckled, hugging Squilliam with a tighter grip. "I guess you're excited about going to that art school, huh?"

"Ecstatic."

The brilliant light of dawn broke through the cabin windows early, waking Squidward from a sound sleep. As he came to terms with the increasingly familiar sight of the ceiling, he jolted up out of the covers, realizing what was missing. Shit, was he late?

His pulse began to normalize, the thought occurring to him that Squilliam might have rolled over onto the ground during the night. A frantic search of the bordering floor panels yielded nothing, again quickening his pulse. Harry was still there, deep in sleep, he noted in a sigh of relief. So he wasn't late. Squilliam had probably just gone to...do something Squilliam would do. Probably starting his shower.

He had to come back soon. He'd left his mood ring in the cabin, right next to Squidward's. When the time came to go to breakfast, he still saw no sign of Squilliam. When Mr. Shores announced that practice would begin in a minute, he started to panic. "Mr. Shores!" he cried, running to his band director. "Squilliam is missing, I saw him last night, but he's gone!"

"You mean he didn't tell you? It's okay, Mr. Tentacles. Calm down," he said, noting the tears at his eyes.

"What are you going to do to find him?"

"Calm down, he's okay. He went back to Bikini Bottom."

"Why? And why didn't he tell me? He left his mood ring..."

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you that. I can tell you that he's all right, though."

"Ohh..." he took a slow, deep breath, quickly exhaling. _'Fuck! I'm a fool for believing anything he told me. Was he using me the whole time? Maybe I just suck as a lover.'_

Rehearsal was an exercise in frustration. The gap where Squilliam would have played lingered in his mind, bouncing around his brain and interrupting his concentration. What could he have done to make Squilliam leave without a word?

That evening, the group began the band initiation ceremony through which newcomers were inducted into the band. After a few silly tasks like musical chairs, they gathered around a fire to reflect on their summer at band camp.

"Hello? Anybody home?" Robbi said, the band looking to Squidward, awaiting a response.

He shook his head. "What was the question?"

"Your most memorable experience at band camp."

"Oh, of – course." His face twitched about the mouth and eyes. "It's...the most m-memorable...I...at band c-camp...b-band camp, right, what's my, what's my...best mem-memory...I-I-I ah..."

Mr. Shores clapped his fins. "Talk amongst yourselves," he said, then kneeled by Squidward's side. "You don't have to share if you're uncomfortable. It doesn't have to be your most memorable moment, either – you can talk about anything, anything at all. How about one of the group activities?"

"It's not that I...I'm not embarrassed."

"Mr. Fancyson is lucky to have someone like you to count on."

"But we're not –"

"Don't make excuses for me. I don't care what your relationship is. But you kiddos need to relax. This is high school. You two should enjoy yourselves." He patted Squidward's shoulder. "Are you ready? Or do you want to sit this out?"

"I'm ready," he said, clearing his throat. "My most memorable experience at band camp wasn't falling in love, or bonding with friends and people I barely knew, or humiliating myself in front of the band during one of the activities - it was the night I spent in my lover's arms, naïve enough to think it would last more than just one night." He started to cry.

"Sorry, man, that's a bummer."

"I know, Squilliam is such an asshole."

"He's a total snob, too." Rachel drew a shoulder toward her neck, curling her lips in a persnickety pucker as she mimicked him: "'You mean you didn't like Phil Bass's Music in the Shape of a Pear? You clearly lack an ear for phase shifting.'" Everyone laughed. Except Squidward.

"Ugh, really! And the way he's always talking about the guys he's with. Yeah, like we really wanted to know about every boner he got on the weekend."

"He's a total faggot. Oh - sorry, Squidward, I don't mean you - _you act normal most of the time_. But seriously, what's the deal with that girly fag act he puts on?"

"Just because he's a little swish doesn't make him a girl, Jeffery."

"He danced around in make-up and a skirt," he said with a snort of incredulity.

"So did you at our last party."

"That doesn't count; I was high as a kite."

"Squillie may not act like your typical manly man, but when it's time to perform, his manhood is very satisfying - as a few of you here are well aware."

"Ha ha, yeah Ryan!"

"Shut up! I was drunk!"

Alicia said, "Oh! And don't you hate it when he gets in your face, laughing and joking like you're his best friend ever?"

"Oh, yeah! It's like he's trying to be friends with everyone, but it's so phony," her friend said.

"Stop it, guys, just stop! You people, in this band, this is the only place he feels welcomed, like he's not a freak. Yeah, maybe he's a little fucked up. But he's no worse than any of you fools," he said, then ran off into the dark to find a place to sit alone.

As the other members of the band flocked to the edge of the circle to watch him lose his mind, Mr. Shores went to the nearby mess hall to place a phone call to the camp counselor: "Yeah - you need to come get him... As soon as possible. He's huddled up in a tree, crying... I'd love to go talk to him about it, but you know how those rumors get started. He has nobody else he'd trust this stuff to, except for - well, you know... Yes. Just this morning... So you'll talk to him? Good."

He approached the hollowed out trunk where Squidward sat, crouched inside. "Mr. Tentacles? I called a counselor to talk to you about what's going on."

"Can't I just talk to you?"

"Oh, I'd like nothing better than to help you work this stuff out, but..."

"Yeah?" He wiped the tears off the bridge of his nose with the back of a tentacle.

"It's just that sometimes people get dumb ideas in their heads, when a teacher is close to a student. Especially when they're both male."

"And gay."

"No, no, it has nothing to do with you being gay."

"That's baloney and you know it; it has everything to do with me being gay. You don't want Principal Algae to hear you counseled a student about his gay lover at summer camp. You don't want to look like a perverted old man who gets off on that stuff."

"You're right. That's exactly it. What if I said I _would_ talk to you about it? What would you say?"

"Yesterday Squilliam told me he loved me. Now he's gone, like always. I am such an idiot for believing that jerk about anything."

"Didn't he tell you why he left?"

"No," he said, blowing his nose. "He just left."

"Mr. Fancyson had a very good reason to leave. I can't say more than that, but trust me on that."

"Okay. So what if he did? Why did he leave his mood ring here? Why didn't he fucking tell me?"

"You'll have to ask him that when you get home. But he is a very private person."

"Squilliam? Private? You're kidding me."

"He deals with a lot of stuff he doesn't fit into his 'fancy rich guy' persona. He'd rather handle the nitty gritty of life by himself. A lot like you. You know, when I was younger, I knew someone who kind of reminded me of -"

"Squidward?" The counselor arrived, peered over Mr. Shores' shoulder. "Don't be shy. I don't bite." She grinned big.

"Never mind," Squidward said, "I'm doing okay here."

"Oh, I don't think so. Come on, we'll go inside to talk about what's depressing you over some hot cocoa. How's that sound?"

"I'd rather not. I'm doing fine."

"Honey, you're in a tree at ten o'clock at night. That's not normal."

Mr. Shores snapped, "Does he have to be normal?"

"Hey, you called me, saying to come get him ASAP because he's crying his eyes out in a tree trunk. Now Squidward, are you upset because you can't see Squilliam? You can see him again real soon, dear, just be patient."

"That's really all you think of me, isn't it? I feel sorry for all the students with serious mental issues who have to listen to your vapid, patronizing bullshit."

"You're going to face severe consequences for that tone of voice, young man!"

Mr. Shores grinned at him, shook his head in confident contradiction to her words. "Sal, why don't you head back to your office? I think I've got the situation under control."

Sal gave a measured look to each of them, then departed with a huff and a quick scuff of fin against dirt.

"Is there anything else you want to talk about, Mr. Tentacles?"

"Yeah. There is."

* * *

Squidward's father left the boat where Squidward sat, waiting wearily to get home. "Hey, Leslie! How's it going?"

"Pretty good," Mr. Shores said, looking Mr. Tentacles up and down. "Do you still play clarinet much these days?"

"Only on weekends. Now Squidward, he plays constantly. Sometimes I think he was born with a clarinet in his mouth." His voice softened as he asked, "So everything went all right?"

"He had some rough patches, but I think he had a good time."

"Oh, Neptune, Leslie, remember our first time at band camp?"

Mr. Shores blushed, noting that Jonathan Tentacles was still just as attractive as when they were sixteen and gave way to hormonal impulses in the woods. Balder, bearing more wrinkles, but just as dashing to the similarly aged band director. "That was a long time ago, Jonathan."

"Yes, it was. But you never forget your first. Even if they're not a woman."

"A lot of guys wouldn't count our - experiences - at all."

"They're just afraid to admit they've had gay sex, because they're afraid it means they're gay. I know I'm not, so why do I care that we had some of the wildest, gayest sex this side of the Atlantic? I mean, it was great!"

"Oh Jonathan, now I remember why I had a crush on you. That, and you gave incredible blowjobs."

"Good to know the Tentacles Touch has some staying power. How are things going with Perry?"

"Great! We're hosting a party in a few weeks and you and your wife are more than welcome. Squidward should probably stay home for this one, though."

"We just might have to take you up on that offer, Les. Are you guys serious?"

"We've been together for a year now, and we're thinking about tying the knot next spring."

"Oh, that's fantastic news. Make sure you reserve front row seats for me, Sherry, and Squiddy."

"No problem, pal. Speaking of Squidward, you should probably get him home now. Squilliam left camp early."

"Oh...good idea. Thanks a lot!"

"It's my pleasure," he said.

Squidward's father got back in the boat, turning his key in the ignition. "How would you like a ride to Squilliam's house?"

"Yes, please!"

"All righty then." His son was unusually quiet. "How was your first time at band camp?"

"It was good."

"Just good?

"I learned a lot."

"You had fun, right?"

He couldn't deny that.

_ "Okay, now breathe from down here." Squilliam, from behind, wrapped his arms around Squidward's stomach._

_ "You're...you're holding me too tight. I can't breathe."_

_ "Oh – my mistake." He loosened his grip, hands traveling lower, grasping his hips. "Is that better?"_

_ "Mmm...I mean, yeah, that's better."_

_ "Good. Now make your embouchure nice and tight, and blow for me."_

_ As Squidward played, Squilliam moved to stroke Squidward's cock, making him squeak. "Squeak for me, Squiddy. That's how I know I'm doing it right." When Squidward moaned, Squilliam directed him to blow into his clarinet instead. After a minute, he couldn't hold it up to his lips anymore and his clarinet pressed against his chest. When he came, it got on his clarinet. Squilliam assured him that his repair team didn't ask questions as he wiped the lip of the bell and dragged a swab through the bore._

Squidward's father stirred him from his reverie to tell him they'd arrived at Squilliam's house.

* * *

"Is this about your mother?" Squilliam Fancyson II paced the room, grilling his son.

"What about her?"

"I know about Lillian's affairs. Is this your way of feeling closer to her? Knowing that you've both fucked a lot of guys you'll never see again?"

"I don't know why I did it; I just needed to stop thinking about Maxi -"

"Don't bring him into this."

"Why not, Daddy? Would you rather I brought his boyfriend into it?"

"You've already brought him into this!"

"Tell me, how did I do that, Mr. Fancyson II?"

"He would still have a chance at a normal life, if you hadn't turned him queer!"

He looked at his father in dismay. "Don't start this again. This was an _accident_, father; it is _not_ my fault!"

"What I am implying is that you need to start learning how to be Squilliam Fancyson. You aren't the only one who has to live up to that name, you know."

"I _know_, and you know what else? I make my own name! I don't waste my life trying to be you, I live my life being _me_! Squilliam Nancy Fancyson, not Squilliam Channing Fancyson."

"Fine! Be Squilliam Nancy Fancyson! You must tone it down, though."

"Must I? What gives you the authority?"

"Don't forget, Nancy, I'm more than a corporate executive officer; I am also your father."

"I hate to break it to you, pop, but you're little more than a figurehead by now."

He sighed, his head dropping into his hands. "Sometimes I think you do this because you think that's how gay men are supposed to act. I guess that's my fault because you don't have any gay men in your life to act as your role model, but I can't help it that I'm straight."

"I know I don't need to act like this. But I like showing off; I like everybody knowing what a great lover I am; I like being a sex symbol for my generation."

"But you don't have to do that, Squill. Some of my associates I golf with are gay, and they don't go out dancing in high heels, or sleeping with another man every few days."

"Don't worry about me, Daddy. I can take care of myself."

He whispered to the younger Squilliam, patting his shoulder, "I don't care who ends up in your bed. Just keep your dignity."

He smiled. "You really don't care who?"

His father nodded his head 'no.'

Squidward knocked at the door, and Mrs. Fancyson opened the door, then looked at him disdainfully. "Squill, it's that peasant." Turning back to Squidward, she said, "He doesn't want to see you." She shut the door on Squidward's shocked and hurt face. "You've got to tell him he can't loiter around our property." She peeked through a window shade to confirm he was, in fact, still standing at their doorstep.

Out of Squidward's hearing, Squilliam called out, "Mother, his name isn't 'peasant,'" as he approached the door angrily. "It's Squidward Quentin Tentacles, and I want to see him - again and again and again. You'll just have to live with it." Squilliam interceded to lead him inside by his hand to the parlor, where his mother followed, his parents sitting apart from each other. "Squiddy, do you want something to eat, or drink?"

"I want to talk."

"Of course." They proceeded to his bedroom.

Squidward noted that Squilliam was still wearing his band shirt...and a tie. "So what's the tie for, Fancyboy? Need something to hang on the door while you're fucking your next victim so Maxi doesn't barge in on -"

Squilliam stared at him, turning his head slightly askew as he delivered a contemptuous smirk of, "He's in the hospital." And opened the doors to his bedroom.

Squidward gulped, stunned as he followed him inside. "Gee, I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"Don't you read the fucking papers? Workers rights this, pride march that, you'd think you'd have read about the one thing that actually matters to me."

Squidward didn't say anything, just stroked his arm, despite the fact he had a perfectly good retort of: _"What papers could I have read; I just got here, douche,"_ lined up, just sitting in his head, going to waste. "I'm sure he'll be okay. You can afford the best doctors."

"Money can't turn time back and give my brother some brains, or he'd never have gone in that damn boat in the first place."

"How..."

"It's bad."

"I mean how did it happen."

"Oh. He snuck out to meet his boyfriend, and a boat just, some drunk driver, smashed right into them." Squidward was silent, processing. "His boyfriend is dead, you know. I don't know how we're going to tell him that. If we ever tell him that – oh god! Squiddy! It – it's not f-fair..."

Squidward held him tight, running his hands through his hair. "It's going to be okay, Squillie. _He's_ going to be okay."

He gulped down the quiver in his throat. "He wasn't even drunk."

"Hey, Squillie, why don't we smoke a bowl?"

"Good thinking."

Squidward prepared the bong for use. "Try and relax, okay?" He let Squilliam take a hit first.

"Hey, it's 4:20!"

"Whoo!"

Squilliam looked into his eyes. "Would you ever blow a forty-six-year-old?"

"When I'm forty-six."

"Good answer." He smiled at Squidward. "Better than mine."

"Why, what's your answer? I mean, I know you're a slut, but forty-six..." Squilliam gave a deadly serious look. "Really?"

"No. But almost. Father caught me before we did anything."

"Um..."

"You know my daddy is only forty-one."

"When did this happen?"  
"In the park outside the hospital."

"I asked you _when_."

"I'd just finished visiting Maxi."

"Is that what it takes to turn you on now? Do I need to pretend I'm a stranger as old as your father just so you can get it up?"

"You're overreacting. I didn't even want to give head! I just needed a distraction."

"Was I just a 'distraction' to you?"

"No, Squiddy! And if you were, you're the best distraction I've had. In my life."

"I wonder if I'll still look sexy when I'm forty-six."

"I would suck you when we're forty-six. We're sixteen now, so that's...thirty years? Will you keep distracting me in thirty years, Squiddy? We can have passionate old people sex."

"How did you know how old he was, anyway?"

"Oh. It turns out he's an employee of my father's. One of the CEOs, executives, something like that."

"I guess he's out of a job."

"You really don't know anything about business, do you? Now that Daddy has dirt on him, he's very useful as an expendable, obedient resource."

"What business is he _in_, anyway, organized crime?"

"Does it really make a difference?" He took a handful of barnacle chips into his mouth. "You'll stay with me, right Squiddy? I want you with me, wherever we are."

"Why didn't you tell me why you left?"

"I didn't want to depress you. You were having so much fun."

"You could've just said 'family emergency' or something." He laughed. "You're right, Squiddy, I'm such a barnaclehead!" He laughed even more, inhaling more marijuana.

"You really love him, don't you?"

"I hate that word."

"You said it to me."

"I did, didn't I? Fuck, let's talk about something, anything but this."

"How about fucking?"

They laughed. "Splendid idea." Squilliam kissed Squidward's nose.

"So you really, you like how I do it?"

"Mmm...oh yes. If I were stuck on a desert island, and I had to choose between my clarinet, and the orgasms you gave me...I'd definitely choose the orgasms."

"So you want to do it again?"

"It's a date. Come on, let's dance." He pulled Squidward along by his wrist, leading him to the dance room.

He flipped the switch and music poured out of huge speakers while multi-colored lights and a disco ball spiraled around the room. Squidward basked in the array of colors and sounds bouncing off the walls, back in a time when even the fluffy love songs really meant something. "I love this song!"

"Ooh, Squiddy, your happiness is contagious." He had an aura, a joie de vivre. "I really need to start going to school high more often. It would really take the edge off when you aren't around anymore for our mid-day make-out sesh."

Squidward grinded his pelvis against Squilliam's, the line between dancing and fucking quickly eroding. He pushed Squilliam back against a sofa, his legs wrapped around Squidward's.

"This is the position me and Maxi always do it in," he said, cocking an eyebrow in a facetious gesture.

They giggled, Squilliam rubbing his face against Squidward's chest.

"You feel like music," he said, touching the surface of the skin with all of his tentacles, "yes, you're just like music."

"And you're the light. You're flickering - Don't turn off!" They kissed up until the moment of climax. Squilliam's tentacle slid down his cheek until he was firmly grasping Squidward's chin as their kiss ended. "We should do this more."

"I agree." He grabbed his hands and pulled them both upright. "How would you like to see a new art exhibit tonight? I have VIP tickets!"

"Huh? How would you have VIP tickets?"

"All of my tickets are VIP tickets. I'm a Very Important Person, aren't I?"

His voice cracked through his nasal tittering. "You're my Very Important Person."

"You're my VIP, too." He tickled Squidward's belly. "Would my VIP like to stop for dinner at a fancy restaurant before going to the art exhibit?"

"Are you kidding? That sounds wonderful."

"Let's get clothes to change into!"

As they walked out the door, Squilliam sliding Squidward's jacket over his arms, he said, "Just so things are clear, you do realize I want you to be my lover."

"No," Squidward said, playfully sarcastic and restraining his laughter, then snorting and chortling away.

"You know, as in my boyfriend."  
"Oh, yeah, it's like some kind of cryptic message; I can't figure it out."

Squilliam laughed, "Oh, Squiddy. Really, though, I want you to promise you'll stay with me. We'll be friends, at least. No matter what."

Squidward paused to kiss him, and they stood in front of the house, kissing passionately. "You taste like pot."

Squilliam smiled. "So do you, Squiddy. So do you."

* * *

_The sequel, **Beats Per Minute**, is in the works. It includes romance, corporate conspiracy, amnesia, family conflicts, FASHION IS A SERIOUS BUSINESS, high school high-jinks, confronting dormant demons, and ulterior motives. But mostly, it follows Squidward and Squilliam's relationship from high school to college._

_Oh, yeah, and anyone catch how I mistakenly started calling Robbi Rachel? There was supposed to be one Rachel (the non-band-geek Squidward asked out), but now, there are just two Rachels, one in the band and one not._


End file.
